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HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 

AND  HIS  WORKS 

BY  MRS.  SCHUYLER  VAN  RENSSELAER 
WITH  A PORTRAIT  AND  ILLUS- 
TRATIONS OF  THE  . 

ARCHITECT’S 

DESIGNS 


•Scautp  totll  not  come  at  tl)c  call  of  a Icfftslatnrc,  nor  tutll  it  repeat  in 
©nfflanU  or  3(mtrtia  its  (listorp  in  Greece.  3ft  toill  come,  as  altoaps, 
unannounceH,  anU  spring  up  bcttocen  tl)t  feet  of  braPe  anb  earnest  men. 

'iSmerpoa 


BOSTON  AND  N]*:W  ^'ORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

ilfje  Utitjcrfiiilic  Cnmtirilioc 


MDCCCLXXXVIII 


iFjl3e  |)unlJre5  Coptec  Printci, 


No. 


c-  -> 


\ - • 


Copyright,  1888, 

Bt  M.  G.  van  RENSSELAER  akd  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  & CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  ; 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  hy  H.  0.  Houghton  and  Company. 


To 

THE  PUPILS  OF  HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 

this  book  is  dedicated,  as  a testhnony  to  the  value  of  the  assistance 
which  they  gave  their  master  ifi  his  work  and  an  expression  of  the 
belief  that  their  own  works  tinll  show,  more  convincingly  than  any 
words,  the  greatness  of  his  qualities  as  an  a?'tist  and  a teacher. 


r 


9 West  Ninth  Street,  New  York, 
April  77,  i88S. 


M.  G.  VAN  RENSSELAER. 


y.i 


■ ' ■ ■ . ■ ■ 

• •/(  •. 


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'•  ••«  ' »»ij 


i 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Ancestry  and  Early  Life  . . 1 

II.  Life  in  Paris 6 

III.  Life  in  Paris  and  Eeturn  to  America  . . . . . . . . . . .14 

IV.  Professional  Life  19 

V.  European  Journey  . 26 

VI.  Last  Days.  — Personal  Traits 35 

* VII.  Hereditary  Influences  . 42 

VIII.  Early  Works  47 

IX.  Early  Works  . 54 

X.  Trinity  Church  59 

XI.  Works  of  Middle  Life 67 

XII.  The  Albany  Capitol ■ . ...  . . . . . . 73 

XIII.  Works  of  Middle  Life  . . 78 

XIV.  The  Cathedral  Drawings.  — The  Pittsburgh  Court-House 87 

XV.  The  Field  Building.  — The  Cincinnati  Chamber  of  Commerce . 94 

XVI.  Railroad  Stations.  — Dwelling-Houses 100 

XVII.  Characteristics  as  an  Artist  .............  Ill 

XVIII.  Characteristics  as  an  Artist  .............  117 

XIX.  Methods  of  Teaching  . . . ■ 123 

XX.  Influence  upon  Profession  and  Public  . 132 


APPENDIX. 


I.  List  of  Richardson’s  "Works . • . . . • ■ .139 

II.  Methods  of  Instruction  followed  and  Problems  given  out  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  Paris  141 

III.  Extracts  from  Richardson’s  Description  of  Trinity  Church  . . . . . . . .143 

IV.  Extracts  from  Memoranda  and  Letters  relating  to  the  Cathedral  Drawings  . . . 145 

V.  Richardson’s  Professional  Circular  for  Intending  Clients 147 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FULL-PAGE  PLATES. 

Portrait  of  H.  H.  Richardsox . 

Trinita'  Church,  Bostox 

IXTERIOR  of  TrIXITY  ChURCH,  BoSTOX 

Competitive  Desigx  for  Trixity  Church,  Bostox  .... 

Proposed  Porch  for  Trixity  Church,  Bostox  . ; . 

Wixx  Memorial  Library,  Woburx  ....... 

WiXG  of  Library,  North  Eastox  ...... 

Doorway  of  Library,  North  Eastox  ...... 

Sever  Hall,  Harvard  Uxiversity 

Towx  Hall,  North  Eastox 

South  Froxt  op  the  Capitol,  Albaxy 

Interior  of  Senate  Chamber,  Capitol,.  Albany  .... 
Fire-Place  in  Court  of  Appeals  Room,  Capitol,  Albany  . 

Plan  of  West  Staircase,  Capitol,  Albany 

Crane  Memorial  Library,  Quincy 

City  Hall,  Albany 

Study  for  Rear  of  City  Hall,  Albany 

Law  School,  Harvard  University  

Porch  of  Law  School,  Harvard  University  .... 
Re.vr  of  Law  School,  Harvard  University  . . . . 

Ames  Building,  Boston  . 

Ames  Building,  Boston  ......... 

Plan  of  Propo.sed  Cathedral  Church  for  Albany  . 

Perspective  View  of  Proposed  Cathedral  Church  for  Albany  . 
Elevation  op  Proposed  Cathedral  Church  for  Albany  . 
Allegheny  County  Buildings,  Pittsburgh  ..... 

Jail,  Pittsburgh  .......... 

Field  Building,  Chicago 

Chamber  of  Commerce,  Cincinnati  ...... 

Railroad  Station,  Aup.urndale 

Railroad  Station,  Holyoke  

Railroad  Station,  Chestnut  Hill  


Frontispiece 

PAGE 

. 58,  59 
. 60,  61 
. 62,  63 
. 64,  65 

. 66,  67 
. 68,  69 

. 68,  69 
. 70,  71 

. 70,  71 


. 74,  75 
74,  75 
. 76,  77 
78,  79 
. 80,  81 
82,  83 
. 82,  83 
84,  85 
. 84,  85 
84,  85 
. 86,  87 
88,  89 
. 88,  89 
88,  89 
. 88,  89 
90,  91 
. 96),  97 
98,  99 
100,  101 
100,  101 
102,  103 


viii  LIST  OF  ILLUSTFATIONS. 

Hall,  Hol'se  of  Johx  Hay,  AVashixgtox  106, 

House  of  B.  II.  IVaeoek,  Washixgto'x 108, 

House  of  Fkaxklix  MacVeagh,  Chica(;o 108, 

LlliUAJtY  OF  H.  H.  IIlCHAKDSOX 122, 

Offices  of  H.  H.  Richakdsox 126, 


ILLUSTKATIONS  IN  THE  TEXT. 

Autograph  Drawixg  by  H.  H.  Richakdsox,  1859  ........... 

Tower,  Church  of  the  Uxity,  Srkixgflelu  (Autograph  Drawixg  by  H.  H.  Richardsox)  . 

Study  for  Church  of  the  Uxity,  Sprixofuild  ............ 

Tower,  New  Brattle  Square  Church,  Bostox 

Study  for  North  Church,  Sprixgfield 

I9.A-X  OF  Trixity  Church,  Cloisters,  ax’d  Chapel-Buildix’^g  ......... 

A Glimpse  of  North  Eastox-  . 

Proposed  Additiox’’  to  Chex-ey"  Buildix-g,  Hartford  

1’lax'  of  Library,  Woburx’^  ................ 

Library.  North  Eastox  

Sketch  for  a Towx  Hall  for  Bkooklix-e  ............. 

City  Hall,  Alb^yxy 

Wix-Dow  IX”  GxVble  of  Library,  Quixcy  ............. 

IVixDow  IX  Porch  of  Library,  Quix”cy  ............. 

Plax  of  Library”,  Quix”cy”  ................ 

Plan  of  Library”,  Burlix”gtox”  ............... 

Sketch  for  Library”,  Burlixgtox”  . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Library”,  Burlixgtox”  ^ 

Sketch  for  Readixg  Room,  Library”,  Burlix”gtox”  ........... 

Sketch  for  Book  Room,  Library”,  Burlixgtox”  ........... 

Library”,  MxVldex” 

Plax  for  a Library”  Buildixg  (Autograph  Sketch  by”  H.  H.  Richardsox)  ...... 

Plax”  of  Law  School,  Harvard  Uxiy”eksity”  ............ 

Emmaxuel  Church,  Allegiiexy”  City”  ............. 

Sketch  for  a Chapel  ................. 

Cathedral  Church  (Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardsox”)  . 

Graxite  Capit.als,  Court-house,  Pittsbujrgh 89, 

Pl.ax  of  Court-house  (Secoxd  Story),  Pittsburgh 

Tower,  Court-hou.se,  Pittsburgh 

Plax”  of  .Jail*  (Secox’d  Story”),  Pittsburgh  ............ 

Plax  of  Baptist  Church,  Newtox 

Fouxtaix”,  Detroit 

Dixix”g-rooji,  House  of  N.  L.  Ax”dersox”,  Washixgtox”  .......... 

Railroad  Statiox”,  North  Eastox”  .............. 

Railroad  StxVtiox”,  Woodlax”d 

Sketch  for  Exd  of  Trix”tty”  Rectory”  ............. 

Gate  Lodge,  North  Eastox”  ................ 

Sketch  of  House  for  N.  L.  Ax”dersox,  Washix”gtox  .......... 


107 

109 

109 

123 

127 

8 

47 

48 

52 

54 

60 

67 

68 

69 

70 

72 

78 

78 

78 

■ 79 

79 

80 

80 

81 

82 

83 

83 

84 

85 

86 

87 

, 90 

91 

92 

93 

94 

98 

100 

101 

102 

103 

103 

104 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  ix 

Rear  op  Percy  Browne’s  House,  Marion  . 105 

Ceiling  of  Hall,  House  of  John  Hay,  Washington  106 

Brick  Carving,  House  op  Henry  Adams,.  Washington 107 

Stone  Carving,  House  of  Henry  Adams,  Washington 107 

Sketch  op  House  for  J.  R.  Lionberger,  St.  Louis  ...........  108 

Sketch  of  House  for  Franklin  MacVeagh,  Chicago. 108 

Sketch  of  House  for  J.  J.  Glessner,  Chicago  ...........  109 

Plan  of  House  for  J.  J.  Glessner,  Chicago 109 

Sketch  of  House  for  W.  H.  Gratwick,  Buffalo 110 

Sketch  for  a Light-house Ill 

Sketch  for  an  Ice-house  117 

Sketch  for  a Hall 122 

Plan  of  Cathedral  Church  (Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson)  . . . . . . 123 

Plan  of  Trinity  Church  (Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson) 124 

Law  School  (Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson)  125 

Plan  of  City  Hall,  Albany'  (Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson) 126 

Law  School  (Autograph  Sketches  by  H.  H.  Richardson) 128 

Sketches  for  Andirons 132,  133 

Sketch  for  a Gas  Bracket  . 133 

Chair  in  Library,  Malden  ................  134 

Sketch  for  Chair  in  Capitol,  Albany 135 

Autograph  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson,  on  margin  of  circular  relating  to  Casino  Competition  . 142 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ANCESTRY  AND  EARLY  LIFE. 

Henry  Hobson  Richardson  was  bom  at  the  Priestley  Plantation  in  the  Par- 
ish of  St.  James,  Louisiana,  on  the  29th  of  September,  1838.  His  father  was 
Henry  Dickenson  Richardson,  a native  of  St.  George’s,  Bermiicla,  and  his  mother 
was  Catherine  Caroline  Priestley,  a gran d-dangh ter  of  that  Dr.  Priestley  who  was 
famous  in  his  day  for  many  things,  but  is  now  chiefly  remembered  as  the  discov- 
erer of  oxygen. 

The  first  paternal  ancestor  of  whom  any  record  is  preserved  is  James  Richard- 
son, who  was  born  in  London  in  1695  and  early  in  life  emigrated  to  Bermuda.  In 
1722  he  married  Mary,  daughter  of  Francis  Dickenson  of  Port  Royal,  Bermuda,  and 
his  son  Robert  was  born  four  years  later.  Robert  married  Mary  Burchell,  and 
their  son,  a second  Robert,  born  in  1752,  married  for  his  third  wife  Honora  Bur- 
rows. These  were  the  parents  of  Henry  Dickenson  Richardson.  His  mother  died 
at  the  moment  of  his  birth,  and  his  father  while  he  was  still  a lad.  When  about 
sixteen  years  of  age  he  removed  to  New  Orleans,  and  entered  into  business  as  a 
cotton-merchant  with  the  firm  of  Hobson  & Company. 

The  maternal  pedigree  also  begins  in  the  seventeenth  century,  with  Joseph 
Priestley,  a “ maker  and  dresser  of  woolen  cloth  ” in  Yorkshire.^  His  son  Jonas 
married  the  daughter  of  Joseph  Swift,  a farmer,  and  their  son,  Josc2fii  Priestley, 
afterwards  the  fiunous  doctor,  was  born  in  1733  at  Fieldhead  about  six  miles  from 
Leeds.  The  story  of  his  life  is  very  interesting,  but  concerns  us  here  only  in  so 
far  as  it  exjilains  the  causes  which  brought  him  to  America. 

He  was  bred  a Dissenter  and  entered  the  ministry.  But  even  while  studying 
at  the  theological  academy  he  had  shown  that  tendency  toward  indcjiendent 
thought  which  afterwards  bore  such  consjiicuous  fruit.  Even  then,  he  tells  us,  he 
“ saw  reason  to  embrace  what  is  generally  called  the  heterodox  side  of  things.”  As 
years  went  on  he  developed  into  a pronounced  Socinian  and  an  upholder  of  Neces- 
sitarian doctrines  in  iDhilosojihy  ; and  as  he  always  expi-essed  each  jihase  of  his 
ojiinions  with  entire  friinkness  — not  to  say  imiietuosity  — of  both  speech  and 
j)cn,  he  Avas  constantly  embroiled  in  theological  battles  Avhich  yearly  grew  more  hot 
and  bitter.  His  scientific  investigations  brought  him  a less  thorny  croAvn  of  fame. 

^ Memoirs  of  Dr.  Joseph  Priestleij  to  the  Year  1795.  Judge  of  the  5th  District  of  Pennsylvania;  and  the  Rev- 

Written  hy  himself.  With  a continuation  to  the  Time  of  erend  William  Christie.  Northumberland  ; Printed  by 

his  Decease,  by  his  Son,  Joscj)h  Priestley ; and  Obser-  John  Binns,  1806.  (Issued  also  in  London,  1805-1807.) 
vations  on  his  Writings  by  Thomas  Cooper,  President 


9 


IIEXIIY  HOBSON  lUCIIAlWSON. 


Hut  as  he  also  interested  himsell’  in  soeial  questions,  and  here  too  took  his  stand 
among  the  boldest  Radieals  of  that  excited  day,  political  as  well  as  religious  hatred 
long  raged  against  him,  not  only  in  the  neighhorhoods  where  he  dwelt  hut  throngh- 
out  the  length  and  breadth  of  England  ; and  when  in  1791  he  boldly  exj)ressed 
his  sympathy  with  the  reyolutionists  of  France,  conseryatiye  passion  could  no 
longer  contain  itself.  Jlis  house  and  laboratory  in  Birmingham  were  burned  by  a 
Ifaiitie  mob,  he  was  obliged  to  flee  for  his  life,  and  eyen  in  London  was  compelled 
to  hide  for  a time  from  his  enemies. 

A curious  old  a([uatint,  a copy  of  which  is  still  in  the  possession  of  the  Richard- 
son hiinily,  sho^ys  the  ruin  to  which  his  home  had  been  reduced.  One  imagines 
that  some  sympathetic  feeling  must  hayc  prompted  its  publication,  for  a group  of 
sliort-waisted  ladies  and  long-coated  gentlemen  stand  in  the  foreground  and  lift 
their  hands  as  though  in  lamentation.  But  so  little  sympathy  was  shown  by  his 
countrymen  at  large  tliat  he  soon  shook  English  dust  from  his  feet  and  in  1794  set 
sail  for  America,  whither  his  three  sons  had  preceded  him. 

may  be  proud  that  the  young  re])id)lic  was  so  much  less  bigoted  and  fearful 
than  the  mother-country  that  she  gaye  him  honorable  reception.  He  was  wel- 
comed by  addresses  and  deputations  when  he  landed  in  New  York,  and  might  at 
once  haye  estal)lished  lumself  as  Unitarian  preacher  and  philosophic  lecturer  in 
either  New  A ork  or  Rhiladelphia.  But  before  deciding  what  his  new  life  should 
be,  he  went  to  Northumberland  (a  little  town  at  the  confluence  of  two  branches 
of  the  Susquehanna  Riyer,  about  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  northeast  of  Idiil- 
adel])hia)  to  inspect  a district  where  his  eldest  son  and  some  other  Englishmen 
^yere  ])lanning  to  estal)lish  an  agricultural  colony.  lie  himself  was  neyer  con- 
cerned in  this  land-scheme,  wdiicli,  indeed,  was  soon  abandoned.  But  he  was 
charmed  by  the  beauty  and  apparent  healthfulness  of  Northund^erland,  wms  more 
attracted  by  its  promise  of  leisure  and  retirement  than  by  the  offers  of  public  use- 
fulness wdiich  the  large  cities  held  out  to  him,  and  soon  decided  to  make  it  his 
permanent  home.  Hither  he  brought  his  books  and  his  scientific  instruments, 
and  liere,  in  a comfortable  house  to  wdiich  was  attached  a good  laboratory,  he 
dw  elt  for  the  rest  of  his  years,  going,  how^eyer,  from  time  to  time  to  Philadelphia 
to  deliyer  courses  of  lectures  on  yarioiis  philosophical  themes.  He  studied,  ex- 
perimented, and  wrote  as  diligently  as  he  had  done  at  home,  and  still  argued  with 
zeal  on  many  matters  of  public  interest.  Not  a few  heated  paper  battles  were 
the  result,  but  they  showed  scarce  a sign  of  that  bitterness  of  personal  inyectiye 
w hich  had  characterized  the  opposition  to  his  yiews  in  England.  The  nearest 
approach  to  persecution  that  he  experienced  in  America  was  when  certain  politi- 
cal writings,  in  wdiich  he  had  criticised  the  course  of  the  Federalist  party,  drew 
from  John  Adams  the  adyice  to  speak  no  more  on  such  topics  “lest  he  get  him- 
self into  trouble.” 

During  his  later  years  Dr.  Priestley  suffered  much  from  disease  and  weakness, 
and  he  died  at  Northumberland  in  1804  at  the  age  of  sixty-one.  He  had  mar- 
ried in  early  life  Mary,  the  daughter  of  Isaac  Wilkinson,  an  iron-master  liying 
near  Wrexham  in  Wales.  She  died  in  1796,  at  the  age  of  fifty-fiye,  and  lies  bur- 
ied beside  her  husband. 


ANCESTRY  AND  EARLY  LIFE. 


3 


Their  second  son,  William,  from  whom  Richardson  was  descended,  was  born  in 
Leeds.  He  was  with  his  father  at  the  time  of  the  Birmingham  outrage,  fled  to 
France  to  escape  the  after-claps  of  the  popular  storm,  and  became  naturalized  as  a 
citizen  of  the  new  reiDublic.  But  French  air  was  likewise  filled  with  storms,  and 
what  with  Conservative  intolerance  on  one  side  of  the  Channel  and  Radical  excesses 
on  the  other,  the  Old  World  seemed  to  have  no  place  where  a quiet  man  might 
gain  his  livelihood  by  trade.  An  elder  and  a younger  brother  were  already  in  Amer- 
ica, and  hither  William  Priestley  came,  too,  a short  time  before  his  father’s  im- 
migration. After  his  arrival  he  married  Margaret  Foulke,  who  was  also  of  English 
birth,  — a native  of  Northumberlandshire  and  probably  of  Birmingham.  Her 
father,  Joseph  Foulke,  was  a gentleman  of  Scotch  descent,  and  her  mother  be- 
longed to  that  Chambers  family  which  founded  Chambersburg  in  Pennsylvania. 

William  Priestley  remained  but  a short  time  with  his  father  in  Pennsylvania. 
About  the  year  1801  he  removed  to  Louisiana,  in  the  belief  that  the  cultivation 
of  sugar-cane  would  prove  a profitable  employment.  Nor  was  he  mistaken,  for 
he  soon  owned  large  and  flourishing  plantations  and  amassed  a fortune  — very 
considerable  in  those  days  — of  several  hundred  thousand  dollars.  His  daughter, 
Catherine  Caroline  Priestley,  was  born  at  the  Priestley  Plantation,  and,  as  has  been 
told,  married  Henry  Dickenson  Richardson  and  became  the  mother  of  the  archi- 
tect. He  was  the  eldest  of  a family  of  four,  — the  others  being  one  brother,  Mr. 
William  Priestley  Richardson  who  served  with  distinction  in  the  Civil  War  as  an 
officer  of  the  Confederate  army  and  who  now  lives  in  New  Orleans,  and  two  sis- 
ters who  are  married  to  Mr.  John  W.  Labouisse  and  Mr.  Henry  Leverich  of  the 
same  city.  His  father  died  at  Philadelphia  in  1854,  and  his  mother  subsequently 
married  Mr.  John  D.  Bein  who  had  been  the  business  partner  of  her  late  brother, 
Mr.  William  Priestley.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bein  died  some  years  ago. 

The  mothers  of  great  men,  even  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation,  have  a 
j^roverbial  interest  for  the  biographer.  Dr.  Priestley’s  wife,  according  to  his  own 
testimony,  was  the  faithful,  intelligent,  and  courageous  sharer  of  his  troubled  life, 
— “a  woman  of  excellent  understanding,  much  improved  by  reading,  of  great  for- 
titude and  strength  of  character,  and  of  a temper  in  the  highest  degree  affection- 
ate and  generous  ; feeling  strongly  for  others  and  little  for  herself.  Also,  greatly 
excelling  in  everything  relating  to  household  affairs,  she  entirely  relieved  me  of 
all  concern  of  that  kind,  which  allowed  me  to  give  all  my  time  to  the  prosecution 
of  my  studies  and  the  other  duties  of  my  station.”  Of  Margaret  Foulke,  AYilliam 
Priestley’s  wife,  Mr.  William  Priestley  Richardson  writes  : “ My  grandmother 
died  in  New  Orleans,  at  the  age,  I believe,  of  eighty-five.  I well  remember  her, 
and  have  often  heard  her  spoken  of  as  most  accomplished  in  all  that  pertains  to 
womanly  virtue,  and  as  having  a constitution  of  mind,  remarkable  in  her  time, 
which  enabled  her  to  give  personal  attention,  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  to 
all  the  important  details  of  her  business,  — the  management  of  large  ])lantation 
interests,  — and  after  the  death  of  her  son  William  to  share  in  the  control  of  the 
large  hardware  firm  of  Priestley  & Bein  to  which  he  had  belonged.”  And  her 
daughter,  Mrs.  Richardson,  by  the  same  evidence,  “ inherited  in  the  highest  de- 
gree all  her  gentler  qualities  of  heart  and  mind,  and  was  tridy  a most  devoted 
friend  and  mother.” 


4 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


Hichardson’s  early  life  was  passed  chiefly  in  New  Orleans,  though  the  summer 
months  and  the  winter  vacations  were  si)cnt  at  the  plantation  where  he  and  his 
mother  had  been  horn.  A\dien  not  more  than  seven  years  of  age  he  Avas  sent  to 
the  public  school  then  held  in  the  hasement  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  on  La- 
faA'ctte  Scpiare.  But  he  remained  there  only  a fcAV  months.  His  systematic  edu- 
cation began  in  a private  school  kept  by  Mr.  George  Blackman,  and  Avas  there 
carried  on  until  the  autumn  folloAving  his  father’s  death.  It  had  been  intended 
that  he  should  enter  the  army,  and  through  Mr.  Judah  P.  Benjamin,  an  intimate 
friend  of  his  father’s,  the  chance  of  a cadetship  at  AVest  Point  Avas  secured.  But 
an  iinpediment  in  his  speech  rendered  him  unfit  for  military  seiwicc,  and  after  a 
vear  at  the  University  of  Louisiana  he  Avent  to  Cambridge,  Mass.,  to  prepare  for 
Harvard  with  a private  tutor. 

Early  in  his  school  life  he  shoAved  signs  in  Avhich  avc  can  noAV  read  the  budding 
talent  of  the  architect.  When  about  ten  years  old  his  love  for  diwing  induced 
his  father  to  place  him,  Avith  pupils  of  much  greater  age,  under  the  best  master  in 
Ncav  Orleans ; and  in  mathematics  he  Avas  exceptionally  proficient  from  the  very 
first.  Both  Mr.  Blackman  and  Professor  Sears,  the  head  of  the  University  of  Lou- 
isiana, Avere  accomplished  mathematicians,  and  both  delighted  in  his  rapid  ])rog- 
ress  and  saAV  therein  the  prophecy  of  a distinguished  future.  When  he  first  Avent 
to  Cambridge  he  might  easily  have  passed  in  mathematics  into  the  Sophomore,  or 
probably  even  into  the  Junior  class.  Backwardness  in  the  classics,  hoAVCver,  com- 
pelled further  preparation,  and  he  matriculated  Avith  the  class  of  ’59.  At  this  time 
he  Avas  already  a good  French  scholar  ; for  though  no  French  blood  ran  in  his 
veins,  he  had  been  taught  the  language  at  home  as  Avell  as  in  his  school  classes. 

His  childhood  seems  to  have  been  of  the  happiest,  and  the  memory  of  his  com- 
])anions  shows  him  to  us  in  a most  attractive  light.  He  Avas  an  eager,  active,  aficc- 
tionate,  generous,  and  merry  hoy,  Avorking  Avell  at  school,  and,  whenever  ambition 
prompted,  easily  excelling  his  felloAVS  in  all  out-door  sports  and  athletic  exercises. 
Later  he  became  a good  horseman,  and,  as  his  father  had  been  before  him,  an 
expert  Avith  the  foils.  From  his  father  too,  as  Avell  as  from  all  the  Priestleys,  he 
inherited  a great  fondness  for  chess,  and  it  is  said  that  even  blindfold  he  could 
succcssfidly  play  several  games  at  once.  He  loved  music,  and  learned  to  play  Avell 
on  the  flute ; and,  to  quote  his  brother’s  Avords,  “ he  Avas  fond  of  ladies’  society, 
and  consequently  ahvays  scrupulously  neat  and  tasteful  in  his  dress.  This  love 
of  dress  greAV  with  him.  His  ‘mock  part’  in  college  Avas  ‘Nothing  to  Wear,’ 
from  the  fact  that  he  had  better  clothes  and  more  of  them  than  any  one  man 
needed.” 

His  college  life  Avas  uneventful.  He  took  and  kept  a fixir  standing  in  his  class, 
but  docs  not  seem  to  have  been  an 'especially  diligent  student,  or  to  have  shoAvn 
marked  ability  in  any  branch  save  mathematics.  His  proficiency  in  this  branch 
all  his  classmates  recollect ; and  all  remember  his  social  disposition  and  his  great 
personal  charm.  “ It  is  pleasant,”  says  one  Avho  Avas  a fclloAV-stiident,  though  not 
a classmate,^  “to  go  back  and  recall  the  slender,  companionable  Southern  lad,  full 
of  creole  life  and  animation.  ...  In  recent  years  he  Avas  ‘ a good  portly  man 
and  a corpulent,  of  a cheerful  look,  a pleasing  eye,  and  a most  noble  carriage  ; ’ 

’ Charles  Francis  Adams,  Jr.  ; Address  delivered  at  Cambridge,  Mass.,  on  Commencement  Day,  June,  1886. 


ANCESTRY  AND  EARLY  LIFE. 


5 


but  in  those  early  clays  ...  he  was,  like  FalstalF  at  the  same  period  of  life,  ‘not 
an  eagle’s  talon  in  the  waist.’  ” He  was  then,  indeed,  a very  handsome  youth, 
above  the  medium  height,  slightly  and  gracefully  built,  with  thick,  curly  dark 
hair,  a warm  complexion,  very  dark  and  brilliant  hazel  eyes,  a rather  thin  long 
face,  and  finely-moulded  features  — the  firmly  compressed  yet  mobile  and  hu- 
morous mouth  speaking  both  the  energy  and  the  gayety  of  his  disposition. 
Handsome  and  distinguished  in  appearance,  vivacious  and  sympathetic  in  man- 
ner, forcible  and  amusing  in  conversation,  clever,  ardent,  and  impressionable,  — 
rich  too,  and,  we  are  told,  “ generous  to  a fault,”  - — it  is  no  wonder  that  his  col- 
lege days  should  have  been  pleasant,  or  that  they  should  have  brought  him  many 
friends.  It  is  a better  proof  that  he  had  the  power  of  winning  true  affection 
and  of  bestowing  it  in  return,  to  find  that  the  friends  then  made  remained  the 
friends  of  a life-time.  Their  love  for  “ Fez,”  as  they  affectionately  called  him, 
and  the  interest  they  felt  in  his  career,  were  never  interrupted  for  a day,  despite 
his  long  absence  from  America  and  the  strain  of  that  terrible  conflict  which 
severed  so  many  of  the  tics  that  had  bound  together  Americans  of  northern  and 
of  southern  birth.  They  made  him  many  generous  offers  of  assistance  during  his 
time  of  poverty  and  struggle  in  Paris  ; their  welcome  after  six  years  of  separation 
was  as  heartfelt  as  their  god-speed  had  been ; and  those  who  were  his  closest 
friends  at  college  were  still  among  his  closest  when  he  died. 

His  Alma  Mater  had  no  more  loyal  or  grateful  son  than  this  one,  born  in  a far- 
off  State,  whom  the  chances  of  later  life  brought  back  to  dwell  almost  at  her  doors. 
He  often  spoke  of  all  she  had  done  for  him,  especially  in  the  way  of  widening  his 
life  and  enriching  it  with  friends.  No  commission  to  work  pleased  him  so  much 
as  a commission  to  work  for  her ; and  if  one  chanced  to  cite  Sever  Hall  as  perhaps 
the  most  perfect  of  his  structures,  he  was  ready  for  her  sake  to  delight  in  the  ver- 
dict. And  I think  no  social  distinction  which  could  have  come  to  him  in  later 
life  could  have  given  him  so  much  satisfaction  as  his  membership  in  that  very  an- 
cient and  “exclusive”  college  club  — The  Porcellian^ — -which  admits  only  fifteen 
undergraduates  at  a time  but  keeps  all  whom  it  admits  in  close  brotherhood  ever 
after. 

llichardson’s  intention  on  leaving  the  South  had  been  to  make  civil  engineering 
his  profession.  Neither  his  finnily  nor  his  classmates  remember  just  when  he 
changed  his  mind,  or  just  what  led  him  to  think  of  the  architectural  profession 
instead.  Nor  have  I been  able  to  discover  any  evidence  in  his  own  handwriting 
— all  the  letters  he  wrote  home  from  Cambridge  having  been  destroyed  when  his 
family  left  New  Orleans  before  the  arrival  of  the  Union  troops.  A short  time 
before  his  graduation  he  heard  with  pleasure  that  his  step-father  had  resolved 
to  send  him  to  Europe  to  prosecute  his  architectural  studies ; and  as  soon  as  his 
examinations  were  over  he  set  sail  with  two  of  his  classmates,  spent  the  summer 
traveling  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  and  then  settled  doAvn  to  his  Avork 
in  Paris. 

While  still  at  college  he  had  engaged  himself  to  Miss  Julia  Gorham  Hayden, 
daughter  of  Dr.  John  Cole  Hayden  of  Boston. 


CHAPTER  II. 


LIFE  IN  PARIS. 

"^T:ry  few  of  Rieliardson’s  letters  from  Paris  have  been  preseryed  — only  a 
single'  one  addressed  to  an  uncle  in  New  Orleans,  and  a short  series,  covering  a 
period  of  about  four  montlis,  written  to  bis  future  wile.  Fortunately  they  chance 
to  speak  of  significant  days  and  things,  and  the  memory  of  his  friends  helps  us 
to  complete  at  least  an  outline  of  the  picture  we  should  have  liked  to  see  fully 
painted  by  himself. 

The  letter  to  his  uncle  is  dated  November  23,  1860,  more  than  a year  later 
than  his  arri\al  in  Europe,  and  conveys  the  news  of  his  admission  to  the  great 
Paris  art-school. 

“ Last  Tuesday  I was  admitted  member  of  PEcole  des  Beaux  Arts.  No  one 
knew  I intended  presenting  myself.  ...  I have  no  time  to  write  you  a detailed 
account  of  the  examinations.  Suffice  it  to  say  they  lasted  one  month,  were 
public,  and  carried  on  entirely  in  French.  I was  once  sick  and  was  obliged  to 
])resent  an  unfinished  design ; but  not  withstanding  I entered  well.  One  hun- 
dred and  twenty  presented  themselves,  sixty  only  were  accepted,  I being  the 
eighteenth.  I had  the  disadvantage  of  being  a foreigner,  — got  confused  at  my 
mathematical  examination,  and  that  brought  my  average  down.” 

Certainly  this  is  a very  good  showing  for  one  who  passed  his  examinations  in 
a foreign  tongue,  and  who  had  had  no  jireparatory  instruction  before  leaving 
home  except  in  mathematics.  There  is  no  record  of  any  artistic  study  during 
his  earlier  years  save  such  as  is  implied  by  the  drawing-lessons  of  his  childhood 
and  by  certain  others  followed,  with  how  much  diligence  does  not  appear,  during 
his  college  terms.  It  seems,  however,  that  he  had  been  far  from  realizing  what 
such  an  examination  woidd  mean  even  as  regarded  mathematics,  and  had  tried 
in  vain  to  pass  it  immediately  upon  his  arriwal. 

“ My  first  recollection  of  Richardson,”  writes  Mr.  R.  Phene  Spiers,  the  dis- 
tinguished English  architect,  who  studied  at  the  same  time  in  Paris  though  in 
a different  atelier,  “ was  in  September  or  October,  1859,  when  he  presented  him- 
self for  examination  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts.  He  had  come  over  about  a 
month  previous  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  pass  the  examination  straight  off. 
Two  rive  voce  examinations  in  algebra  and  geometry  he  managed  to  pass,  but  the 
stiff  questions  in  descriptive  geometry  (the  study  of  which  he  had  only  taken 
up  about  a month  before)  floored  him,  and  he  had  to  wait  until  I860,  when  he 
entered  the  school.” 

The  intervening  months  were  passed  in  steady  preparatory  work. 

“ I remember  him,”  writes  an  American  friend,^  “ living  in  a sort  of  pension  in 

^ Mr.  Joseph  Bradlee. 


LIFE  IN  PARIS. 


7 


the  Rue  cle  Vaugirard,  working  hard  at  French,  and  getting  himself  up  on  the 
subjects  for  examination  at  the  Ecole.  . , . He  was  then  receiving  regular  remit- 
tances of  money  from  New  Orleans  which  enabled  him  to  live  with  ease.  But 
his  choice  of  a profession  was  a serious  one,  and  he  devoted  himself  to  the  study 
of  it  with  the  earnestness  of  a man  for  whom  it  was  to  he  what  the  Germans 
call  a ‘ bread-study.’  In  his  second  Avinter  he  left  the  Rue  de  Yaugirard,  and 
took  a pleasant  ajAartment  in  the  Rue  dc  Luxembourg,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  now  called  the  Rue  Canibon.  Here  he  liAcd  until  the  Civil  War  at  home 
interfered  ivitli  his  remittances  of  funds,  — Avhich  first  became  irregular  and 
finally  Avholly  ceased,  — and  he  Avas  obliged  to  look  for  less  expensive  quarters. 
He  accepted  the  situation  cheerfully,  and  took  a room  in  the  not  A^ery  attractive 
Rue  Mazarin,  Avhich  he  occu])ied  for  some  time  during  the  latter  part  of  his  stay 
in  Paris.  The  Avhole  of  his  student  life  Avas  jAassed,  I believe,  in  the  atelier  of 
Monsieur  Andre  (Rue  de  I’Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts),  Avlioin  he  liked  personally,  and 
for  A\diose  professional  taste  he  ahvays  had  great  respect ; and  Avith  one  or  tAvo 
of  his  French  felloAV-students  there  he  formed  lasting  friendshqAS.  Richardson 
AA  as  an  excellent  companion,  but  though  fond  of  pleasure  and  society  and  ahvays 
ready  for  a dinner-party  or  a dancing-jAarty,  he  never  alloAved  these  things  to 
interfere  Avith  the  serious  performance  of  his  Avork ; and  many  of  his  friends  of 
that  time  Avill  remember  that  he  not  infrequently  returned  late  to  his  rooms 
after  a party  to  finish  the  night  in  study ; or  to  his  atelier  Avhen  aii  exhibition 
of  plans  or  draAvings  Avas  in  jAreparation.  Cheerfulness  and  energy  he  seemed 
to  have  in  unlimited  quantity,  both  at  this  time  and  later,  Avheii  illness  and  fail- 
ing strength  must  have  severely  tried  his  patience.  ...  Of  course  he  made 
friends  Avhcrever  he  might  be.  In  Paris  they  Avere  among  Frenchmen  as  Avell 
as  Americans,  Northerners  and  Southerners.  He  never,  however,  even  in  those 
hard  times  for  him,  appeared  to  have  politics  very  much  on  his  mind.  At  any 
rate  there  Avas  no  bitter  partisan  feeling,  — indeed,  bitterness  Avas  not  in  the  man. 
He  Avas  quite  absorbed  in  his  lArofession,  Avhich  he  must  have  felt  Avas,  of  neces- 
sity, to  give  him  a career  and  means  of  sujAport  for  himself  and  a 2^i’obable  family. 
His  friends  probably  thought  of  him  as  ‘ Rich,’  as  he  Avas  familiarly  called,  Avith- 
out  looking  very  closely  as  to  Avhether  he  ‘ sympathized  ’ Avith  the  North  or  the 

South.  Many  of  them  Avill  have  jAleasant  remembrances  of  him  at  the  s’ 

and  s’,  and  at  the  houses  of  others  Avhere  Americans  in  Paris  Avere  in  the 

habit  of  going  five-and-tAventy  years  ago.  . . .For  some  of  us  avIio  kncAv  him 
in  those  earlier  days  in  Paris,  as  a slender  youth  of  jAromising  talent,  a good- 
teni]Aered  and  amiable  coniiAanion,  it  has  been  a delight  to  meet  him  from  time 
to  time  during  these  recent  years ; for  Ave  have  ahvays  found  him  the  same  old 
‘ Rich  ’ Ave  had  knoAvn  as  younger  men.” 

During  the  latter  jAart  of  his  stay  in  Paris,  Richardson  lived  in  the  Rue  du  Bac 
Avith  a felloAV-student,  Monsieur  AdoljAlie  Gerhardt,  avIio  aftcrAvards  gained  a 
prix  de  Rome,  and  noAV  holds  a place  among  the  eminent  architects  of  France. 
For  this  friend  Richardson  ahvays  retained  the  Avarmest  aficction  and  gratitude, 
and  for  his  talents  the  sincerest  admiration.  What  have  been  Monsieur  Ger- 
hardt’s  feelings  in  return  may  best  be  read  in  his  OAvn  Avords : — 


8 


HENPiY  HOB  SOX  RICIIAIWSOX. 


“ . . » Cominp;  to  Paris  in  1859, 
Richardson  presented  himself  and  was 
received  at  the  aleHer  of  Monsieur 
Andre,  and  a short  time  afterwards  at 
the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Artsd  He  enjoyed 
at  this  time  i)eciiniaiT  resources  whicli 
l)erniitted  him  to  hope  that  he  might 
j)ursue  a long  course  of  study  free  from 
all  material  cares.  But  ere  long  the 
outhreak  of  the  War  of  Secession  forced 
him  to  return  to  Amei’ica.  ...  At  the 
hegiiming  of  the  year  18(>2  he  came 
hack  to  Paris  to  resume  with  courage 
the  course  of  his  studies.  Unfortu- 
nately a time  soon  arrived  when  these 
coidd  no  longer  be  his  sole  concern. 
Ilis  resources  threatening  to  become 
exhausted,  he  husbanded  them  for  a 
while  as  carefully  as  possible,  hut  soon 
there  remained  for  him  no  choice  save 
to  sup|)ort  himself  by  working  as  a draughtsman  in  architects  offices.  From 
this  moment  there  began  for  my  ])Oor  friend  an  incessant  battle  between  his 
as])irations  and  the  needs  of  his  existence.  The  chief  thing  for  which  he  strove 
y as  not  to  l)e  forced  to  leave  the  alchcr  of  our  dear  master.  Monsieur  Andre.  It 
was  but  at  unduly  long  intervals  that  he  could  take  part  in  tlie  school  competi- 
tions which  lasted  each  for  tAVO  full  months.  He  Avas  thus  compelled  to  renounce 
the  effort  (dter  successes  to  Avhich  he  Avas  Avell  entitled  to  aspire ; yet  their  ab- 
sence left  him  Avith  fenv  regrets.  The  ambition  Avliich  inspired  him  aa  as  of  too 
healthy  and  too  disinterested  a sort  for  him  to  lay  much  stress  upon  the  mere 
satisfaction  of  his  amour-propre.  The  life  of  the  aieh.er,  — that  existence  of  Avork 
and  mutual  encouragement,  animated  by  much  good-humor  and  gayety,  — this  it 
Avas  that  he  had  learned  to  love  as  heartily  as  any  one  of  us.  lie  folloAved  Avith 
interest  and  ardor  the  labors  of  his  comrades,  regretting  only  that  he  Avas  not 
ahvays  able  to  do  as  they  Averc  doing  and  take  part  in  those  peaceful  conflicts 
Avliich  had  as  their  arena  the  Salle  des  Compositions  de  Concours  of  the  Ecole  des 
Beaux  Arts.  Although  long  pieces  of'  Avork  Avere  too  often  forbidden  him,  he 
yet  ‘ kept  his  hand  in  ’ by  making  sketches  for  compositions  to  AAdiich  he  gave 
extraordinary  charm  ami  brilliancy.  ^ If  the  fact  of  his  being  a foreigner  had  not 
excluded  him  from  the  contests  for  the  prix  de  Rome,  he  Avould  have  been  among 
those  most  am])ly  endoAved  for  taking  ])art  in  them. 

“In  addition  to  his  architectural  studies  properly  so  called ^ — Avhich  the  neces- 
sities of  his  existence  rendered  somcAvhat  desultory  — our  friend  also  sought 
instruction  from  a painter  of  talent.  Monsieur  Leperre,  to  Avhose  studio  he  Avent 
tAA'O  or  three  times  a week.  There,  in  the  presence  both  of  nature  and  of  the 
antique,  he  comjAleted  an  artistic  education  Avhich  he  felt  Avould  be  incomplete 

^ See  Appendix  II. 


LIFE  IN  PAIilS. 


9 


unless  nourished  by  knowledge  and  intelligent  appreciation  of  form  and  linear 
harmony  as  shown  in  their  noblest  and  most  elevated  aspects.  Our  dear  Ilich- 
ardson  understood  the  importance  of  this  principle  from  the  outset ; and,  in  the 
application  he  made  of  it,  showed  that  he  had  a true  feeling  for  all  artistic 
things,  and  that  he  realized  one  must  aim  high  to  attain  to  any  excellence 
whatever.  . . . 

“ I am  sure  that  these  years  he  passed  in  Paris,  battling  Avith  adverse  for- 
tnne,  Avere  not  useless  to  his  talent.  Misfortune  gave  him  a maturity  of  mind 
Avhich  is  rarely  exhibited  by  young  men  of  his  age.  By  the  very  stress  of  cir- 
cumstances his  tlionghts  Avere  concentrated  Avholly  on  his  Avork  — he  hecaine  an 
enthusiast,  a devotee ! I,  AA^ho  had  the  honor  of  being  his  friend  and  of  sharing 
his  life  for  more  than  tAvo  years,  never  had  the  chance  to  note  any  faltering, 
any  feebleness  in  his  A^aliant  sonl,  — neither  coAvardly  regrets  nor  niiAvliolesome 
ambitions.  In  his  heart  he  kept  ahvays  intact  and  fresh  a love  for  his  art,  a 
reverence  for  her  Avho  Avas  to  be  his  life’s  companion,  and  a pride  in  his 
fatherland.”  ^ 

Mr.  Spiers  also  speaks  of  the  benefit  it  Avas  to  Bichardson  to  he  forced  to  strug- 
gle as  he  did  : — 

“ . . . All  day  Avorking  in  an  ofiice  . . . and  every  evening  in  his  atelier,  he 
managed  to  pursue  his  studies  as  before  ; and  jArobahly  by  this  accident  Avere  laid 
the  fonndations  of  his  future  career.  The  practical  Avork  of  Avhich  he  acquired 
a knoAvledge  in  the  Avorking-office  and  on  the  Avorks  is,  I may  say,  never  sought 
for  by  those  Avho  intend  to  practice  in  other  countries,  and  Avho  go  to  Paris  to 
learn  the  art  only  and  the  theory  of  construction.  ...” 

When,  as  Monsieur  Gerhardt  has  told  us,  Bichardson  came  to  America  in  1862, 
he  at  first  thought  of  remaining  in  Boston  and  beginning  the  practice  of  his  pro- 
fession. He  tried  to  find  Avork,  but  the  only  definite  ojAening  that  seems  to  have 
presented  itself  Avas  Avith  an  architect  of  some  standing  avIio  agreed  to  employ 
him  if  he  Avonld  not  put  out  his  sign  or  accept  any  AVork  in  his  oAvn  name.  Such 
an  offer  Avould  have  seemed  satisfactory  to  most  young  men  in  Bichardson’s  posi- 
tion, hut  it  by  no  means  fell  in  Avith  his  desires.  Then  he  thought  seriously 
of  going  South,  for  his  sympathies  Avere  naturally  Avith  his  OAvn  people,  although 
before  the  actual  outbreak  of  the  Avar  he  had  felt  and  siAoken  strongly  against 
secession.  His  Boston  friends,  hoAvever,  vigorously  opposed  a step  Avhich  Avonld 
mean  almost  certain  ruin  to  his  career.  Their  efforts  to  induce  him  to  take  the 
oath  of  allegiance  Avere  in  vain ; but  he  jAroniised  not  to  enter  an  insnrrectionary 
State  Avithout  their  knoAvledgc,  and  finally  consented  to  go  hack  to  Paris  and 
resume  his  studies. 

The  fcAV  letters  Avhich  remain  from  the  very  many  Avritten  to  Miss  Hayden  dur- 
ing his  student  life,  date  from  the  months  immediately  folloAving  his  return  to 

^ Tliis  letter,  together  with  those  from  Mr.  Bra'llee  and  one  number  of  tlieir  paper  a special  memorial  of  Mr. 
Mr.  Phen^  Spiers,  and  several  others  which  I shall  here-  Richardson.  AVith  the  greatest  courtesy  they  abandoned 
after  have  occasion  to  quote,  was  written  for  publication  their  project  upon  learning  that  this  hook  was  in  prepara- 

at  the  request  of  the  editors  of  The,  American  Architect  tion,  and  permitted  me  to  use  the  materials  which  they 

and  Building  News,  when  they  contenq)lated  making  had  been  at  the  ti'ouhle  of  gathering. 


10 


HENFiY  HOBSON  F1CIIABDS0E\ 


Paris.  The  passages  I am  permitted  to  quote  from  them  sliow  how  definitely  his 
mind  was  now  made  u])  to  complete  his  education,  hut  do  not  half  reveal  how  hit- 
ter was  the  struggle  this  resolution  cost  him. 

March  13,  1862. 

“ . . . At  last  in  Paris  — it’s  a good  old  city,  hut  on  arriving  yesterday  morning 
1 had  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  sorrow.  I went  to  my  atelier ; the  fellows  were 
delighted  to  see  me,  hut  Monsieur  Andre  is  not  well  and  I did  not  see  him.  . . . 

March  27. 

“ . . . I think  Paris  a dangerous  place  to  send  a young  man.  Paris  is  to  a man 
what  college  is  to  a hoy.  I mean  as  regards  life.  I never  shall  cease  to  thank 
llea\'cn  for  my  short  tri])  to  Boston.  ...  It  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  compar- 
ing side  by  side  the  habits,  customs,  lives,  of  the  French  and  Anglo-Saxons.  Had 
I remained  longer  in  France  I fear  I should  have  been  prejudiced.  My  feelings 
and  ideas  of  French  life  are  different  from  what  they  ever  were  before.  I prefer 
our  old-fashioned  ways  and  ideas  by  far.  ...  I have  discussed  the  self-same  topic 
at  least  a dozen  times  since  my  return,  and  have  always  taken  up  the  cudgel  for 
my  own  country.  I mean,  as  a matter  of  course,  from  a social  point  of  view. 
Politics  I wash  my  hands  of,  externally  at  least.  . . . 

A^ml  3. 

“ . . . Ikiris  has  no  charms  for  me  except  my  studies.  My  visit  to  you,  and  I 
thank  Heaven  for  it,  put  an  end  to  those  it  might  have  had.  ...  I am  noAv  work- 
ing (it  I’Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  and  will  continue  to  till  I am  obliged  to  work  for 
money,  for  I gain  more  knowledge.  . . . 


Aiml  10. 

“ . . . I am  very,  very  busy,  working  on  a Corps  Legislatif  for  exhibition.  I am 
at  the  atelier  every  day  till  six  r.  m.  (unless  called  off  by  business).  I return  at 
eight  p.  M.  and  remain  till  eleven  p.  M.  That  is  my  regular  day’s  work.  No  one 
can  say  that  I waste  my  time.  . . . Last  Friday  I was  at  the  atelier  all  night 
working  for  another  man.  I left  the  work  at  eight  o’clock  Saturday  morning. 
The  fall  maij  bring  me  home,  hut  I doubt  it  strongly.  . . . Best  assured  that  no 
one  wishes  my  return  to  Boston  more  sincerely  than  I.  There  is  no  use  looking 
on  the  dark  side.  I have  enough  to  struggle  against  ivithout  borrowing  trouble. 
One  of  these  days  I may  have  my  pleasures,  at  least  I hope  so  — but  as  the 
French  say,  lonjours  esperer,  c est  cles^sperer.  ... 


April  17. 

“ . . . I am  very  busily  engaged  at  present.  I never  leave  the  studio  before 
eleven  p.  m.,  except  Sundays,  or  when  accidentally  called  off  as  last  Tuesday,  when 

I dined  with and [friends  from  Boston],  and  went  to  the  theatre  in 

the  evening.  I see  Miss every  week,  otherwise  I go  out  not  at  all.  Study 

and  society  are  incompatible.  ...  I see  that  operations  have  been  commenced 
against  New  Orleans.  I feel  nervous  and  anxious  to  hear  more.  My  poor  mother 


LIFE  IN  PARIS. 


11 


and  sisters  — if  I thought  I could  iii  any  way  aid  them  by  being  there,  I would 
go  to-morrow.  You  ask  me  what  effect  the  capture  of  New  Orleans  would  have 
on  me.  I don’t  know,  but  it  would  be  folly  to  return  immediately,  a mere  waste 
of  time  and  money  to  come  to  Paris  and  stay  but  a few  months.  ...  I have 
given  up  hopes  of  receiving  great  aid  from  anything  I may  have  in  New  Orleans. 
I am  young,  and  I hojDe  man  enough  to  make  my  own  way,  and  any  stay  I may 
make  in  Euroj^e,  feel  assured,  will  be  with  the  view  of  making  both  happier  in 
the  end.  I want  very  much  to  go  to  Italy,  and  I intend  to  do  it.  . . . As  that  is 
a study  I can  undertake  as  well  married  as  single,  I may  come  home  first.  . . . 
If  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  do  it  married,  know  that  it  is  essential  I go  single. 
Neither  you  nor  I will  ever  regret  the  time  I pass  perfecting  myself  in  my  stud- 
ies. The  more  I study  the  nobler  my  profession  becomes.  . . . 


April  25. 

“ . . . I hardly  have  time  to  take  my  meals.  I am  just  waking  u]^  to  the  value 
of  time,  and,  feeling  I may  be  called  away  at  any  moment,  I try  to  make  the  most 
of  my  days.  But  if  I tell  you  in  confidence  I am  working  very  hard  . . . don’t 
tell  any  one,  not  even  your  family.  For  two  reasons  : First,  coming  from  you  is 
the  same  as  coming  from  myself,  and  amounts  to  self-praise.  Second,  there  is  no 
use  in  it,  for  if  my  work  does  me  any  good,  the  world  will  find  it  out  of  itself. 
. . . Since  I last  wrote  I have  done  nothing  but  what  I did  the  week  before.  . . . 
Last  night  I came  home  to  write  you  as  usual.  I sat  down  in  my  easy-chair,  took 
uj)  my  pencil  and  began  to  compose,  meaning  to  pass  half  an  hour  or  so.  One  of 
my  candles  burned  out.  I got  up  to  get  another,  when,  turning  to  the  window, 
I saw  the  tAvilight.  I looked  at  my  watch  — it  was  nearly  five  o’clock  in  the 
morning ! . . . I have  been  for  the  last  tAvo  days,  and  was  last  night,  trying  to 
compose  a palace  for  the  governor  of  Algiers  and  residence  for  the  emperor  — 
that  is,  besides  my  regular  Avork,  aa  hich  is  a Corps  Legislatif.  The  more  I see 
and  knoAv  of  architecture,  the  more  majesty  the  art  gains.  Oh,  if  I had  begun  at 
nineteen  to  study  it ! To  Athens  and  Rome  I must  go,  coute  qiie  coute. 


May  1. 

“ . . . I am  not  very  Avell  nor  have  I been  for  a Aveek  past.  I ’m  afraid  it  is 
sitting  up  too  late.  I can  ahvays  Avork  better  at  night.  . . . My  mind  is  ahvays 
more  active  after  eleven  or  tAvelve  o’clock  than  at  any  other  time.  ...  I have  no 
neAvs  Avhatever  to  Avrite.  My  life  is  monotony  itself,  — to-day  is  as  yesterday  and 
to-morroAV  Avill  be  as  to-day.  In  fact  I live  the  life  of  a recluse  and  attempt  that 
of  a philosopher.  ...  I can’t  say  hoAv  long  I Avill  remain  in  Europe.  It  depends 
on  various  things  . . . and  you  Avould  prefer  to  have  me  remain  a fcAV  months 
longer  in  Europe  than  return  to  America  a second-rate  architect.  Our  j)oor 
country  is  overrun  Avith  them  noAV.  I never  Avill  practice  till  I feel  I can  at  least 
do  my  art  justice.  . . . 


3ray  1(). 

“ . . . NeAV  Orleans  is  taken  — governed  by  strangers.  . . . What  a position  to 
be  placed  in  ! My  hands  are  tied,  in  one  sense,  from  the  many  obligations  under 


12 


IIENBY  HOBSON  BICHAIWSON 


A\  liicli  I hold  myself  toAvards  my  IHeiids  in  Boston  ; and  there ’s  not  one  of  them 
for  A\  honi  I Ayould  not  personally  undergo  the  greatest  sacrifices.  For  their  kind- 
ness I owe  an  eyerlasting  debt.  I have  in  yain  reasoned  about  the  right  and 
wrong.  . . . How  I haye  snttered  and  do  suffer,  no  one  can  eyer  knoAy.  To  re- 
main in  Europe  1 think  my  best  plan,  — in  fact  I must.  But  I burned  Avith 
shame  a\  hen  I read  the  capture  of  my  city  and  I in  Paris.  AVhat  is  to  be  the 
end  I do  not  see.  I receiyed  a letter  from  mother  in  Ayhich  she  begs  me  to 
remain  where  I am.  ... 

May  23. 

“ . . . 1 intend  studying  my  profession  in  such  a manner  as  to  make  my  success 
a surety  and  not  a cliance.  AYe  can  then  go  anyAvhere  in  the  beginning  Avhcre 
good  opportunities  offer  themselves.  ...  I liaAe  Avritten  to  Mr. in  Liver- 

pool as  to  money  matters ; if  he  holds  money  from  my  family,  directly  or  indi- 
rectlA',  I shall  accept  it.  If  not,  I shall  immediately  begin  to  support  myself.  It 
Avill  come  very  hard  to  me,  — not  on  account  of  the  comforts  I shall  be  in  need 
of",  but  on  account  of  my  prof'ession.  Naturally,  Avhcn  I support  myself  I am  em- 
ployed to  do  things  I am  already  versed  in,  Avhereas  at  I’Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  I 
am  daily  advancing  in  my  studies,  and  every  day  I find  iieAV  beauties  in  a pro- 
fession Avhicli  I already  place  at  the  head  of  all  the  Fine  Arts.  Therefore  do 
not  be  surprised  at  my  determination  to  avoid  employment  as  long  as  I can.  It 
suffices  me  to  knoAV  that  I can,  Avlieii  called  upon,  support  myself— minus  the 
luxuries.  . . . 

May  29. 

“ . . . I have  taken  a decided  step.  I have  given  uja  all  hope  of  aid  from  home. 
I begin  next  Aveek,  or  as  soon  as  possible,  to  aa  ork  for  my  living.  . . . Hoav  I have 
suffered  f'rom  it  you  Avill  never  knoAv,  for  you  knoAV  not  Iioav  I love  my  art.  . . . 
From  tills  moment  I am  dependent  on  myself  and  on  myself  alone.  Where  or 
Avhen  I shall  get  employment  I can’t  say.  I trust  it  will  be  soon.  I am  going 
to  atteni])t  to  support  myself  and  carry  on  my  studies  at  the  same  time ; but 
Avhether  I can  do  it  or  not  is  to  be  proved.  But  continue  my  studies  I must,  — 
there ’s  no  tAvo  Avays  about  it.  . . . IIoav  many  are  there  worse  off  than  I am ! 
If  I jiersevere  I must  succeed  in  the  end,  and  my  jirofession  Avill  be  much  dearer 
to  me  from  the  very  jiain  it  has  caused  me.  . . . Let  us  hope  for  brighter  days  — 
they  must  come.  It  seems  hard  to  me,  but  Iioav  many  have  done  it  before  me. 
...  I must  stop,  — it  is  iioav  past  one  o’clock  and  I get  up  at  seven.  ...  I 
must  come  to  the  right  side  some  time.  “ It ’s  a long  road  that  has  no  turning.” 
I don’t  care  about  the  Avant  of  money,  but  the  time  taken  from  my  studies  I 
regret.  . . . 

* 

June  18. 

“ . . . You  say  again  I cannot  return  to  Boston.  I can  after  the  Avar,  and  it  is 
quite  possible  that  I Avill  live  there.  I don’t  say  it  is  probable,  but  it  may  hap- 
pen. ...  I shall  live  Avhere  I can  practice  most  profitably  my  profession,  wherever 
it  may  be,  provided  there  are  no  serious  objections  for  your  sake.  . . . Mother 
says  ‘ you  must  not  think  of  returning  home  until  peace  is  declared.’ 


LIFE  IN  PARIS. 


13 


Jtihj  4. 

. Yesterday  and  day  before  I had  sketches  at  the  school  — twelve  hours 
each  ; in  two  days  I worked  twenty-four  hours.  Last  night  I left  the  school  at 
nine  P.  m.,  came  home,  dressed  myself,  and  went  to  dine  at  ten  p.  m.  . . . 


July  18. 

“ . . . I am  now  engaged  in  studying  a Hospice  des  Incurables  pour  Honimes 
et  Femmes.^  It  is  quite  a monument,  to  contain  2,000  persons,  — invalids,  a 
large  church,  nuns  and  nunnery,  — in  fact,  a hospital  of  first  importance,  the 
total  cost  being  two  millions  of  dollars.  Monsieur  Labrouste  has  put  into  my 
hands  the  correspondence  he  had  with  the  government,  and  told  me  to  study  it  as 
I thought  best.  I rarely  see  him.  I work  at  his  house,  but  in  a room  entirely  to 
myself — jirivate.  . . . My  office  hours  are  from  between  eight  and  nine  till  six. 
I am  entirely  alone,  never  see  a person  unless  I go  into  Monsieur  Labrouste’s 
room  to  speak  to  him.  ...  I come  home  at  six,  dress,  dine,  and  in  the  evening 
either  go  to  the  studio,  read  in  my  room,  or  make  visits.  My  habit  is  to  study  in 
the  evening,  visiting  the  excejition,  though  lately  I have  been  out  a great  deal. 
I gain  between  two  hundred  and  three  hundred  francs  a month.  I did  not  ask 
for  more.  . . . Since  I have  been  working  I have  felt  more  like  myself  than  I 
have  for  a year.  Although  my  troubles  are  just  as  great  I feel  happier.  . . . 
Lecollect  I never  studied  architecture  because  it  was  a lucrative  j^rofession.  . . . 

Ally  list  6. 

“ . . . Why  look  upon  the  dark  side  } . . . The  day  will  come,  and  I trust  it  is 
not  far  distant,  when  talking  of  our  misfortunes  will  only  make  our  present  hap- 
piness so  much  the  greater.  . . . The  world  owes  us  a living  and  our  share  of 
happiness.  ...  Of  one  thing  feel  certain  — the  more  we  yield  to  pressure,  the 
harder  will  be  our  lot.  Just  at  i3resent  it  does  not  look  very  bright,  but  it  only 
calls  for  a little  more  courage  and  it  will  look  less  dark.  . . . 

August  29. 

“ . . . I am  busy  working  on  the  hospital.  I rise  before  eight,  take  a cup  of 
coffee  in  my  room,  go  to  my  office  and  remain  there  till  half  j^ast  five  or  six  p.  m. 
I then  go  to  my  room  and  dress  for  dinner.  I dine  about  seven  P.  m.  (for  thirty- 
five  cents).  After  my  dinner  I go  to  my  room,  smoke,  and  think  . . . until 
nearly  nine.  Then  to  my  studio  until  eleven  p.  m.  Sometimes  in  the  evenings 
— rarely  — I make  calls.  I spend  hardly  anything.  . . . What  weighs  most 
heavily  on  me  is  that  I have  not  more  time  to  carry  on  my  studies.  I ought  to 
consider  myself  fortunate  as  it  is ; but  man  is  never  satisfied.  . . . Economy  is 
my  hue  and  cry  just  now.  I breakfast  for  twenty-five  cents,  dine  for  thirty-five, 
and  2^ay  fifty  francs  (ten  dollars)  a month  for  my  room.  Otherwise  I spend  very 
little.  I never  go  to  any  jdace  of  amusement.  . . .” 

^ It  should  be  understood  that  tlie  designing  of  this  Richardson  for  self-support,  in  the  office  of  one  of  the 
hospital  was  not  a school  task  like  the  essays  previously  chief  government  architects  of  the  day. 
referred  to,  but  a 2Jractical  piece  of  work,  undertaken  by 


CIIAPTEPv  III. 


LIFE  IX  PAULS  AND  KETURX-  TO  AMERICA. 

Enough  lias  boon  told  in  the  foregoiiio-  chapter  to  prove  that  the  trials  of 
Piehardsoii’s  student  years  n ere  great,  their  privations  manifold,  and  their  out- 
look dark.  Put  it  would  need  a recital  of  facts  and  feelings  too  personal  for  these 
pages  to  show  the  full  extent  of  the  burden  laid  upon  him,  or  of  the  courage 
with  which  he  bore  its  weight.  Idic  war  distressed  him  deeply  from  day  to 
dav,  and  so  clouded  the  future  that  even  his  hopeful  eye  could  see  the  opening 
of  no  definite  professional  jiatli.  As  the  many  months  went  by,  habit  seems  not 
to  have  inured  him  to  the  separation  from  those  whom  he  held  dear,  but  to  have 
made  it  ever  harder  to  support.  The  unfaltering  vigor  with  which,  in  spite  of 
all  obstacles  and  discouragements,  he  pursued  his  studies  is  worthy  of  deep  ad- 
miration. Only  those  Avho  have  tried  to  gain  at  the  same  time  an  education 
and  a livelihood  can  understand  hoAv  great  must  have  been  the  temptation  to 
think  his  training  complete  enough  and  to  turn  his  Avhole  thought  to  self- 
sii])])ort ; all  the  greater,  too,  by  reason  of  his  early  Avealth,  and  his  naturally 
lavish  and  self-indulgent  disposition.  It  must  indeed  have  been,  as  Monsieur 
Gerhardt  says,  a “ valiant  soul  ” Avhich  could  so  long  sustain  so  complicated  a 
struggle,  and  a sold  inspired  by  a true  reverence  for  that  art  Avhich  can  but 
too  easily  be  turned  into  a mere  money-making  industry.  And  ability  as  Avell 
as  energy  and  high  courage  must  have  been  shoAvn  by  Richardson  at  this  time. 
I rememlier  his  saying  that  (at  all  events  for  a certain  period)  he  Avorked  half 
his  days  at  getting  his  education  and  only  half  at  earning  his  living.  Certainly 
this  implies  ability,  Avlien  one  recollects  that  he  was  a foreigner  Avith  no  friends 
except  those  Avhom  he  had  made  for  himself,  Avith  no  recommendation  except 
his  OAvn  talents,  living  in  a city  Avhere  the  artistic  professions  are  ahvays  over- 
croAvded,  and  Avhere,  in  the  architectural  profession  especiall}^,  Avork  that  can 
find  a market  must  be  distinctly  good.  It  Avas  the  influence  of  his  patron  that 
got  him  his  first  position  in  a government  office.  But  no  patron  Avould  have  been 
likely  to  recommend  an  inefficient  man  to  one  of  those  establishments  Avhich 
demand  and  get  the  very  best  service  the  country  has  to  give  ; and  no  recom- 
mendation unsupported  by  the  outcome  of  practical  tests  Avonld  have  advanced 
him  to  such  Avork  as  he  soon  secured.  At  one  time  he  acted  under  Hittorf  in 
superintending  the  construction  of  Awrious  railroad  stations ; and  he  has  himself 
told  of  the  tasks  to  Avhich  he  Avas  put  by  Labrouste  — tasks  Avhich  related  to  AVork 
of  a A'ery  important  and  difficult  kind,  and  Avhich  Avere  not  mechanical  or  merely 
executive,  but  to  a great  degree  independent  and  creative. 

In  the  Paris  of  to-day  there  is  a large  colony  of  American  artists,  — painters, 
sculptors,  architects,  studying  or  practicing  their  crafts,  — Avhich  is  recognized  as 


LIFE  IN  PALIS  AND  RETURN  TO  AMERICA. 


15 


an  important  and  honored  factor  in  local  artistic  life.  Its  mere  existence  serves 
to  recommend  each  new-comer  and  to  give  him  a good  chance  to  show  what 
may  in  him  lie,  while  its  individual  members  are  ready  to  aid  him  with  counsel 
and  example,  and  with  a brotherly  hand  in  days  of  need.  But  American  students 
were  very  rare  in  the  Paris  of  Richardson’s  day.  Then,  as  now,  the  government 
schools  were  open  to  all  comers,  but  few  aspirants  in  any  branch  had  yet  crossed 
the  Atlantic  to  take  advantage  of  their  hospitality.  Mr.  Richard  M.  Hunt  had 
graduated  with  distinction  some  years  before  from  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  and 
had  afterwards  been  ein2)loyed  on  government  work  as  important  as  the  con- 
struction of  the  new  Louvre.  But,  so  far  as  can  be  learned,  his  was  the  only 
American  name  that  had  j^receded  Richardson’s  on  the  roll  of  the  Architectural 
Section,  and  only  one  or  two  others  were  added  while  Richardson’s  remained. 
Richardson  worked  and  lived  as  an  isolated  foreigner ; or,  one  may  more  truly 
say,  as  a Frenchman  among  Frenchmen  — for  warm  affection  and  brotherly  helf) 
soon  came  to  him  in  as  full  a measure  as  though  his  friends  had  been  his  fellow- 
countrymen.  Many  delightful  letters  which  they  wrote  him  (of  too  j)urely 
personal  a sort  to  call  for  insertion  here)  show  the  reflex  of  his  frank,  ardent, 
and  attractive  j^ersonality.  Then,  as  in  all  later  years,  men  wrote  to  Richardson 
in  a strain  which  jwoves  a much  warmer  sort  of  attachment  than  commonly  exists 
between  man  and  man  after  maturity  has  come. 

When  his  lot  had  so  changed  that  the  memory  of  this  past  time  of  trial  only 
made,  as  he  had  foretold,  his  “ j^resent  haj^jiiness  seem  greater,”  it  was  both 
amusing  and  inspiring  to  hear  Richardson’s  own  account  of  it  — vivid,  enthu- 
siastic, humorous,  yet  showing  that  undercurrent  of  serious  thought  and  23rofound 
feeling  which  always  revealed  itself  in  all  talks  that  touched  upon  his  art  or  the 
ambitions  of  his  life.  One  realized  then  that  this  time  had  had  its  bright  as 
Avell  as  its  shadowed  side  even  while  it  jDassed.  One  felt  the  truth  of  his  friend 
Gerhardt’s  impression  — that  the  energy  of  his  nature  had  been  sufficient  not 
only  to  carry  him  through  his  struggles,  but  to  make  even  the  act  of  strug- 
gling a stimulus  and  a pleasure.  Many  were  his  tales  of  the  curious,  dramatic,  or 
pathetic  incidents  of  the  motley  life  of  the  Latin  Quarter.  Many  were  his 
recollections  of  the  wild  gayety  of  his  friends  when  some  difficult  task,  left  for 
completion  to  last  hurried  hours  of  all-night  work,  had  been  finished  and  dis- 
played, and  the  atelier  — through  some  one  of  its  members  in  whose  success  all 
the  others  felt  they  had  a right  to  share  — had  triumphed  over  rival  studios  in 
a general  concours  of  the  School. 

Most  picturesque  of  all  was  his  account  of  that  great,  and  now  historic,  student 
“ strike  ” which  occurred  when  Viollet-le-Due  had  been  apj)ointcd  lecturer  in 
opposition  to  all  the  traditions  and  to  the  very  decided  jn'otests  of  the  School. 
The  lecture-room  was  packed  when  the  fomous  medigevalist  first  appeared,  but 
with  an  audience  noisily  determined  not  to  listen  to  so  much  as  his  first  word. 
And  when  he  had  been  driven  discomfited  from  the  jdatform,  his  adversaries, 
joined  by  a swarm  of  symjiathizing  students  of  all  sorts,  defiantly  i:)araded  the 
quais  till  the  police  laid  violent  hands  upon  them.  Of  course  Richardson’s  sym- 
pathies were  with  the  insurgents.  But  as  a foreigner  he  felt  himself  a guest  of 
the  government  and  no  sharer  in  the  right  of  the  ciloijen  to  appeal  from  its  dcci- 


1(3 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


sioiis.  This  feeling  was  strong  enough  to  hold  him  aloof  from  the  demonstration 
in  the  Sehool,  hut  not  from  the  street  parade.  Among  those  captured  by  the 
police,  lie  was  locked  up  for  official  examination  on  the  following  day.  But  being 
dignified  to  the  eye,  as  he  Avonld  explain,  “ hy  good  clothes  from  Poole’s,”  he 
u as  put  in  a private  cell  with  only  a single  companion  — a strange-looking,  long- 
haired gentleman  of  enchanting  conversational  powers.  Half  the  night  had 
passed  merrily  between  them  when  the  door  was  thrown  open  and  a dignitary 
in  evening  dress  appeared,  blazing  with  stars  and  ribbons.  This  proved  to  be 
Nieuwerkerke,  the  offending  and  now  in  his  turn  offended  Minister  of  Fine  Arts; 
and  Pichardson’s  comjianion,  in  answer  to  whose  apiical  the  great  man  had  come, 
proved  to  be  Theophilc  Gautier.  Of  course  Bichardson  at  once  began  impetu- 
ousl)'  to  i)lead  for  his  own  release  ; and  of  course  his  frank  and  charming  elo- 
cpience  won  the  day.  It  all  sounds  tame  enough  as  here  recited,  but  was  im- 
mensely amusing  when  told  in  his  graphic  pantomime  and  in  those  rapid  words 
which  were  emphasized  into  greater  piquancy  by  his  slightly  stammering  tongue. 
The  vivacious  delight  with  which  he  described  how  he  left  the  jail  in  triumph 
l)etween  the  bc-starred  and  be-ribboned  official  and  the  hunous  poet,  was  matched 
by  the  conscientious  earnestness  with  which  he  explained  how  it  was  not  against 
Yiollet-lc-Duc  himself  that  the  students  had  protested,  but  against  a government 
which  in  his  appointing  had  “ dared  to  try  to  coerce  the  School,”  and  the  boy- 
ish zest  Avith  Avhich  he  exulted  in  the  School’s  final  Avinning  of  its  righteous 
battle. 

From  his  step-father’s  letter  already  referred  to,  Avritten  in  February,  1859,  it 
appears  that  Richardson  Avas  expected  to  stay  but  some  six  or  eight  months  in 
London  or  Paris,  and  then  return  to  study  and  practice  his  profession  in  Ncav 
Orleans.  But  his  sojourn  abroad  Avas  prolonged  for  six  years  and  a half.  It  Avas 
not  until  October,  1865,  Avhen  the  Avar  Avas  avcII  over  and  business  affairs  had 
begun  to  be  straightened  out,  that  he  finally  set  sail  for  home.  And  then  it  Avas 
not  to  Ncav  Orleans  that  he  Avent.  He  never  even  visited  his  native  toAvn  again, 
although  I have  heard  him  s})eak  of  a constant  Avish  to  do  so.  Ncav  York  Avas 
chosen  as  the  best  place  in  Avhich  to  try  his  fortune,  and  the  commissions  Avhicli 
aftcrAvards  marked  out  his  life  came  exclusively  from  the  Northern  States. 

Advice  of  many  sorts  had  been  offered  him  during  his  last  year  in  Paris.  His 
French  friends  begged  him  to  cast  in  his  lot  Avith  theirs  — to  become  naturalized 
as  a Frenchman  and  then  try  for  that  prix  de  Rome  to  Avhich  he  had  already 
every  other  title  to  aspire,  or  at  least  to  take  advantage  of  the  assured  jAOsition 
Avhich  he  had  earned  by  his  satisfactory  service  under  government.  His  Boston 
friends  urged  — indeed  almost  dictated  as  a course  about  Avhich  there  could  be  no 
question  — that  he  should  come  back  to  them.^  His  family  Avrote  that  peace 
Avould  mean  reneAved  prosperity  for  Noav  Orleans  and  a good  opening  for  his 
talent  there.  And  a more  singular  suggestion  more  than  once  seriously  made 

^ One  of  them  writes,  just  after  the  close  of  the  war,  Richardson  is  invited  to  return  and  become  a member  of 
that  Boston  is  in  truth  full  of  young  men  out  of  work  a proposed  club,  “ carefully  selected,  to  be  called  the 
and  needing  it  badly,  but  that  those  who  earnestly  seek  Hors  d' CE'iLvres." 
will  no  doubt  eventually  find  it,  and  that  meanwhile 


LIFE  IN  PARIS  AND  RETURN  TO  AMERICA. 


17 


to  him  by  Southern  correspondents  was  that  he  might  secure  a great  future  by 
settling  in  Mexico.  This  was  at  the  time  when  Maximilian’s  throne  seemed  to 
give  some  promise  of  stability. 

All  these  suggestions  (excepting  the  last  named)  Richardson  considered  and 
discussed  in  his  letters.  But  the  ties  which  bound  him  to  the  Northern  States 
were  strongest ; and  here  too,  he  wisely  felt,  lay  at  just  that  time  his  richest 
chances  of  professional  success.  There  are  no  letters,  however,  and  no  distinct 
memories  to  prove  just  what  reasons  led  him  to  New  York  instead  of  to  Boston, 
Avhere  he  was  so  much  more  at  home. 

Immediately  after  his  return  he  seems  to  have  entered  into  some  kind  of  a 
partnership  with  a builder  in  Brooklyn  named  Roberts  ; but  little  can  be  learned 
about  this  association,  and  he  soon  broke  away  from  it,  took  an  olSce  in  New 
York,  and  looked  about  for  independent  work.  He  was  wholly  without  resources 
for  the  future ; — even  the  fine  library  he  had  gathered  during  his  college  life 
and  the  first  months  of  his  stay  in  Paris  had  been  already  sold.  He  made  no 
complaints,  however,  and  seldom  allowed  despondency  to  aj^pear  in  his  manner. 
No  false  pride  stood  in  the  way  of  his  accepting  any  employment,  however  hum- 
ble— once  he  even  went  to  Tiffany  & Co.  and  offered  himself,  apparently  without 
success,  as  a designer  of  gas-fixtures  ; yet  no  false  modesty  led  him  to  hide  his 
belief  that  he  had  the  ability  which  would  bring  success  in  his  own  high  pro- 
fession could  he  but  get  “one  chance  to  show  what  he  could  do.” 

« “ Let  me  describe  him,”  writes  a lady  who  befriended  him  at  this  time  when 

he  was  boarding  in  Brooklyn,^  “ exactly  as  I recall  to-day  his  looks.  . . . He  was 
of  good  height,  broad-shouldered,  full-chested,  dark  complexion,  brown  eyes, 
dark  hair  parted  in  the  centre,  and  had  the  look  of  a man  in  perfect  health 
and  with  much  physical  vigor.  He  wore  his  clothes,  which  fitted  him  well, 
with  an  indescribable  air  of  ease  . . . like  one  who  had  dressed  himself  properly 
in  his  room  and  thought  no  more  about  it  afterwards  than  he  did  about  the 
color  of  his  hair  or  the  shape  of  his  head.  . . . His  cravats  had  a careless  ease. 
. . . His  shoes  were  thick,  broad-soled,  and  looked  more  as  if  made  in  England 
than  in  France.  . . . 

“AYe  had  been  boarding  a month  or  two  at  the  same  house  when  I had  an 
opportunity  to  buy  a pretty  little  house  and  . . . decided  to  go  to  house- 
keeping. Mr.  Richardson  . . . came  into  my  room  and  said,  ‘ Airs.  P.,  I Avant 
you  to  take  me  as  a boarder.  . . . All  I Avant  for  breakfast  is  hash,  Avith  the 
addition  of  a cup  of  coffee  so  strong  that  you  can  never  Avash  the  cu])  Avhite 
after  using.’  . . . 

“ He  occupied  a small  back  parlor,  quiet  and  retired.  Here  he  brought  his 
library,  and  here  he  spent  many  hours  of  patient  study.  . . . After  a feAv  Aveeks 
he  came  to  me  and  said,  ‘ I have  dissolved  my  partnership,  I stand  alone  in  the 
Avorld  Avithout  the  means  to  pay  my  Avay.’  There  Avas  a proud  humility  in  his 
manner  Avhich  amused  and  interested  me.  ‘ Do  not  be  troubled,’  I said,  ‘ some- 
thing favorable  Avill  turn  up  after  a Avhile.  Stay  on  Avith  us.’  ...  I kiiOAV  he 
was  in  perplexity,  but  I failed  at  the  time  to  fathom  the  undercurrent  of  de- 

Letter  in  Boston  Evening  Transcript,  October  8,  188G. 


18 


IIENBY  HOBSON  BICIIAIWSON. 


spondcncy  wliicli  troubled,  liis  life.  . . . He  was  going  to  the  Century  Club  one 
evening,  and  as  he  passed  out  of  his  room  he  said,  ‘ Look  at  me.  I wear  a suit 
made  by  Poole,  of  London,  which  a nobleman  might  be  pleased  to  wear,  and  — 
and  — and  I have  n’t  a dollar  to  my  name.’  lie  said  this  so  cheerfully,  with 
that  same  proud  humility  to  which  I have  referred,  that  even  then  I did  not 
realize  his  despondency.  It  was  a dark  hour  to  him.  ...  Not  for  from  this 
time  came  the  sad  news  of  his  mother’s  death.  At  once  — he  could  hardly  wait 
for  the  next  train  — he  must  go  for  sympathy  to  the  one  who  held  the  place  in 
his  heart  next  his  mother.  There  was  a childlike  simplicity  about  this  man 
which  he  may  liave  hidden  as  he  came  more  in  contact  with  the  world  and  his 
life  was  filled  with  work  and  care ; but  it  was  in  his  nature.  . . . 

“ .Vt  last  he  disapi)eared  for  a day  or  two.  On  his  return  he  said  that  . . . 
he  was  to  be  the  architect  of  a new  church  in  S2)ringfield,  Mass.  He  went  to 
work  Avith  great  interest,  though  he  had  not  been  idle  during  his  Avaiting  time. 

. . . One  thing  is  certain,  if  ‘ the  Avdue  of  any  Avork  of  art  is  exactly  in  the 
ratio  of  the  quantity  of  humanity  put  into  it,’  then  Mr.  llichardson’s  work  Avas 
good,  for  he  put  his  soul  into  it.  He  believed  in  ‘ bold,  rich,  living  architecture,’ 
and  in  good  Avork  or  none.  . . . He  did  not  like  that  the  architect  should  be 
fettered  by  lack  of  money  in  the  client.  In  his  vicAV  the  best  use  of  money  is 
to  spend  it  in  architecture  to  Avhich  posterity  may  point  with  pride.  . . .” 

It  Avas  in  the  month  of  November,  1866,  after  he  had  been  more  than  a year 
at  home,  that  Itichardson  got  that  first  commission  to  Avhich  reference  has  just  * 
been  made.  AVhen  the  competition  for  a large  Unitarian  church  to  be  built  in 
SiAi'ingfield  Avas  opened,  a former  classmate,  Mr.  J.  A.  Ilumrill,  obtained  for  him 
permission  to  send  in  his  designs  Avith  those  of  several  well-knoAvn  architects. 
Much  opposition  Avas  made  l)y  more  than  one  member  of  the  building- committee 
to  the  idea  of  intrusting  so  important  apiece  of  Avork  to  an  untried  man  — to 
a man  Avho  had  had  no  independent  practice  and  no  especial  training  in  the 
kind  of  design  re([uired,  and  Avhose  knoAvledge  of  practical  matters  in  America 
must  evidently  be  very  small.  Nevertheless  the  intrinsic  merits  of  his  project 
carried  the  day.  He  had  come  himself  to  Springfield  in  his  impatience  to  learn 
the  committee’s  decision  and  Avas  aAvaiting  it  in  an  outer  room.  When  it  Avas 
told  him  he  burst  into  tears  and  exclaimed,  “ That  is  all  I Avanted  — a chance B 

And  a chance  Avas  all  he  needed.  Almost  at  once  he  received  another  impor- 
tant commission  in  Springfield,  and  Avithin  the  year  he  was  successful  in  a com- 
petition for  an  Episcopal  church  at  AVest  Aledford,  near  Boston,  and  could  feel 
himself  fairly  launched  in  professional  life. 

On  the  strength  of  his  very  first  piece  of  Avork  he  married  Miss  Hayden,  — in 
January,  1867, — and  established  his  home  at  Clifton,  Staten  Island. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


PROFESSIONAL  LIFE. 

Richardson’s  first  place  of  business  was  in  Trinity  Building,  on  Broadway, 
where  he  was  permitted  to  occupy  a room  in  the  offices  of  Mr.  Emliii  J.  Littell, 
architect.  Here  he  worked  for  some  eighteen  months  upon  the  commissions  for 
his  first  three  buildings,  — the  Church  of  the  Unity  and  the  Boston  & Albany 
Railroad  offices  in  Springfield,  and  Grace  Church  at  West  Medford,  Massachusetts. 

Just  two  years  after  his  return  to  America  (October  1,  1867),  he  entered  into 
partnershii)  with  Mr.  Charles  Gambrill,  an  architect  of  well-established  reputation 
who  seems  to  have  known  and  befriended  him  during  the  foregoing  months. 
The  firm  of  Gambrill  & Post,  of  which  the  second  member  had  been  Mr.  George 
B.  Post,  was  dissolved  at  this  time,  and  that  of  Gambrill  & Richardson  was  imme- 
diately formed,  Richardson  removing  to  his  j3artner’s  offices  at  No.  6 Hanover 
Street.  Later  on  the  firm  was  housed  at  No.  57  Broadway,  a building  which,  in 
the  new  guise  given  it  by  Messrs.  Babb,  Cook  & Willard,  is  still  the  iirofessional 
home  of  many  architects. 

This  partnership  lasted  for  eleven  years,  — until  October,  1878,  soon  after 
which  time  Mr.  Gambrill  died.  Many  of  Richardson’s  works  therefore,  and  some 
of  great  importance,  including  Trinity  Church  in  Boston,  were  designed  under 
the  firm  name.^  But  as  works  of  art  they  were  not  in  any  true  sense  the  pro- 
ducts of  associated  labor.  The  partnership  was  even  more  exclusively  of  a business 
nature  than  those  which  usually  bind  architects  together,  and  each  member  exe- 
cuted his  own  tasks  in  his  own  individual  way.  There  is  no  question  that  Rich- 
ardson owed  a great  and  constantly  recurring  debt  to  the  business  experience  and 
practical  knowledge  of  Mr.  Gambrill.  But  his  artistic  independence  is  clearly 
acknowledged  by  Mr.  Gambrill  himself  in  letters  which  still  exist,  was  very  soon 
unmistakably  manifest  in  his  productions,  and  was  generally  understood  at  the 
time  by  those  who  knew  them  both.  Not  merely  when  Trinity  Church  was  com- 
missioned but  at  an  even  earlier  period,  men  thought  and  sjioke  of  Richardson  as 
an  independently  creative  artist,  and  were  fully  justified  in  so  speaking  by  all 
laws  except  those  of  the  narrowest  professional  etiquette. 

It  is  not  proposed  to  describe  any  of  his  works  in  this  chapter,  — they  will  be 
better  considered  by  themselves  when  the  main  facts  of  his  life  have  been  told, 
— and  only  those  need  be  even  mentioned  which  conspicuously  influenced  that 
life  by  their  success. 

The  first  which  thus  claims  attention  is  the  Brattle  St[uare  Church  in  Boston, 

^ See  List  of  Works,  Appendix  1. 


20 


HENBY  HOBSON  BICHABHSON. 


tlie  commission  for  which  was  gained  in  comiDetition  in  July,  1870  — two  years 
after  the  formation  of  the  partnership.  No  building  that  had  been  erected  in 
Boston  within  the  memory  of  younger  generations  had  compelled  half  the  notice 
'which  this  excited,  even  before  its  elaborate  sculptured  decorations  were  in  place  ; 
and  the  general  admiration  for  it  was  great  enough  to  justify  the  selection  of  its 
designer  as  one  of  those  who  should  compete  for  the  j^roposed  new  church  for 
Trinity  parish. 

TVhen  the  invitation  to  do  this  was  before  him,  Bichardson  knew  that  a critical 
moment  in  his  career  had  come.  “ The  chance  ” for  which  he  had  longed  in 
order  that  he  might  show  himself  an  architect  had  been  given  him  in  the  Spring- 
field  church,  and  had  been  so  well  used  that  now,  at  thirty-four  years  of  age, 
after  only  five  years  of  practice,  he  was  given  a chance  to  show  wTrether  or  not 
he  was  a great  architect.  Trinity  was  to  be  a church  of  unusual  size  and  costli- 
ness, and  was  sure  to  be  exceptionally  conspicuous  by  reason  of  the  isolation  and 
dignity  of  its  site,  and,  I may  add,  the  wide  fame  of  its  pastor ; and  in  competing 
for  it,  Bichardson  was  to  measure  himself  against  a number  of  the  most  distin- 
guished architects  of  the  country.  While  preparing  his  designs  he  knew  that  he 
was  dealing  with  the  signal  opportunity  of  his  life ; and  when  they  had  been 
chosen  he  kneAV  that  he  had  gained  a marked  professional  victory  and  a most  for- 
tunate opening  for  full  and  decided  self-expression. 

It  was  a great  test,  but  it  resulted  in  a triumph  which  seemed  greater  and 
greater  as  actual  construction  progressed.  Trinity  grew  to  be  a far  finer  building 
than  the  designs  had  promised,  and  it  did  more  for  Bichardson  than  even  he  him- 
self could  have  hoped.  Not  only  was  it  a turning-point  in  his  outer  professional 
career,  — it  is  also  the  most  conspicuous  mile-stone  which  marks  the  course  of  his 
inner  artistic  development.  The  practice  given  by  so  large  and  ornate  a group 
of  buildings  was  of  inestimable  advantage  at  this  stage  in  his  life.  Their  general 
success  confirmed  his  belief  in  the  great  possibilities  and  the  wide  serviceableness 
of  Bomanesque  forms,  while  their  defects  as  well  as  beauties  helped  to  settle  into 
a far  clearer  scheme  his  conception  of  the  way  in  which  these  forms  should  be 
used.  When  he  began  Trinity  all  his  work  had  been  merely  tentative,  and  it 
was  itself  but  a great  and  bold  experiment.  When  he  finished  it  he  was  already 
erecting  other  buildings  which  are  mature  and  characteristic  expressions  of  his 
poAver.  When  he  began  it  he  was  a very  promising  architect  who  had  attracted 
a greater  measure  of  popular  attention  than  usually  falls  to  the  share  of  such  an 
one  in  our  day  and  land.  When  he  finished  it  he  was  to  his  countrymen  at 
large  the  best  knoAvn  and  most  interesting  figure  in  the  profession.  While  he 
Avas  still  in  Paris  his  brother  had  Avritten  him  that  “ he  gave  him  five  years  to 
stand  at  the  head  of  his  profession.^’  The  prophecy  was  bold,  but  was  almost 
literally  fulfilled. 

The  commission  for  Trinity  was  received  in  July,  1872,  and  the  completed  and 
decorated  structure  Avas  consecrated  on  the  9th  of  February,  1877.  MeaiiAAdiile 
another  most  important  piece  of  Avork  of  a very  different  sort  had  been  under- 
taken. In  1876  the  Legislature  of  the  State  of  Noav  York  confided  to  Bichard- 
son, in  company  with  Mr.  Leopold  Eidlitz,  architect,  and  Mr.  Frederick  LaAV 
Olmsted,  landscape  architect,  the  responsible,  difficult,  and  in  many  ways  ungrate- 


PROFESSIONAL  LIFE. 


21 


fill  task  of  completing  the  State  Capitol  at  Albany.  Much  of  Richardson’s  time 
was  given  to  this  task,  esjDecially  during  the  next  succeeding  years,  but  it  was  far 
from  being  finished  when  he  died. 

Tlie  next  commissions  he  received  were  for  public  library  buildings  in  the 
towns  of  Woburn  and  North  Easton,  in  eastern  Massachusetts, — the  one  in 
March  and  the  other  in  SeiAemher,  1877.  With  these  closes  the  list  of  works  to 
which  the  firm  name  of  Gambrill  & Iliehardson  was  attached.  Trinity  Church 
and  other  New  England  structures  gradually  claimed  so  large  a portion  of  Rich- 
ardson’s time  that  in  the  spring  of  1874  he  removed  his  family  from  Staten  Island 
to  Brookline,  four  miles  from  Boston ; and  his  jDractice  grew  gradually  more  and 
more  independent  — as  is  shown,  for  example,  by  the  Albany  commission,  which 
was  given  to  himself  individually  and  not  to  his  firm.  Tims  the  ties  of  iDartner- 
ship  had*  so  relaxed  that  when  they  were  severed  in  October,  1878,  no  public 
announcement  of  the  fact  was  made.  Richardson’s  offices  were  now  also  removed 
to  Brookline  and  accommodated  under  the  same  roof  with  his  home ; and  here, 
amid  singularly  advantageous  and  congenial  surroundings,  he  lived  and  worked 
during  the  eight  years  that  remained  to  him. 

The  commission  to  build  Sever  Hall  for  Harvard  College  was  the  first  that  he 
received  after  the  dissolution  of  his  partnership.  But  it  is  not  needful  in  this 
place  to  follow  farther  the  long  list  of  his  works.  Their  number  is  not  re- 
markable if,  in  comparing  it  with  the  number  which  fell  to  the  lot  of  other 
prominent  architects  during  the  same  term  of  years,  one  counts  building  against 
building  without  regard  to  relative  importance.  But  it  seems  very  great  if  one 
considers  the  character  of  Richardson’s  structures,  — if  one  notes  how  many  are 
of  the  monumental  class,  and  notes,  too,  how  pronounced  is  that  diversity  which 
meant  at  almost  every  step  a new  problem  with  new  difficulties  of  its  own.  Town 
work  and  rural  work  ; niunicii^al  buildings,  libraries,  and  churches ; railroad  sta- 
tions and  dAvellings  ; ivholesale  warehouses  and  retail  stores  ; bridges,  monnments, 
fountains,  armories,  succeed  each  other  heneath  his  busy  hand.  And  the  variety 
which  the  list  reveals  has  a double  interest  and  significance,  — as  shmving,  first, 
that  Richardson  delighted  to  embrace  every  kind  of  ojAportunity,  Avhether  great 
or  small ; and  secondly,  that  the  public  had  begun  to  feel  that  small  architectural 
opportunities,  as  Avell  as  great  ones,  require  the  service  of  the  ablest  minds. 

The  most  singular  fact  to  be  noted  Avith  regard  to  the  Avork  of  Richardson’s 
latter  years  is  that  ecclesiastic  commissions  Avere  so  fcAV.  First  the  Springfield 
church,  then  the  Brattle  Square  Church,  and  then  and  above  all  Trinity  — these 
had  been  the  three  buildings  to  make  his  name  and  to  draAV  popular  attention  to 
his  art.  Yet  after  the  commission  for  Trinity  Avas  received  he  built  hut  tAvo 
churches,  and  these  Avere  by  no  means  of  the  first  imjAortance. 

This  fact,  hoAvever,  cannot  be  counted  a misfortune  either  for  himself  or  for 
the  public.  His  natural  bent  Avas  much  more  toAvards  secular  than  toAvards  eccle- 
siastical architecture.  He  Avas  horn  a creator  not  a student,  an  innovator  not 
an  anticiuary.  A feeling  for  the  vital  serviceahleness  of  his  art  Avas  very  strong 
Avithin  him,  and  therefore  he  cared  more  to  AVork  on  noAV  than  on  traditional 
lines.  What  he  loved  best  Avas  the  freshest  problem.  What  he  most  rejoiced 


22 


HENPiY  HOBSON  lUCHAlWSON 


in  was  to  give  true  yet  beautiful  expression  to  those  needs  which  were  wholly 
modern  in  their  genesis  and  had  hitherto  been  overlooked  by  art.  No  architect 
so  endowed  as  to  be  very  strongly  attracted  by  ecclesiastical  work  would  have 
been  likely  to  say  A\ hat  I once  heard  Itichardson  say : “The  things  I Avant  most 
to  design  are  a grain-elevator  and  the  interior  of  a great  river-steamboat.” 

Once  indeed  in  his  later  years  he  put  on  paj)er  his  conception  of  Avhat  a church 
of  the  most  monumental  kind  should  be.  The  most  elaborate  and  most  scholarly 
designing  he  ever  did  is  shoAvn  in  the  splendid  series  of  competition-draAvings  for 
the  Protestant  cathedral  at  Albany.  NoAvhere  else  are  his  purely  aesthetic 
aspirations  set  forth  upon  so  noble  and  complete  a scale,  or  with  such  richness 
of  detail  and  accessory  decoration.  But  Avhen  the  terms  of  the  competition 
are  examined  and  these  draAvings  are  studied  by  their  light,  it  seems  certain  that 
lu'  could  have  had  no  sober  expectation  of  being  alloAved  to  build  in  any  near 
accordance  Avith  his  submitted  scheme. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that  Avhen  once  this  scheme  had  taken  hold  of  Richard- 
son’s imaginatio’n  he  tlircAV  himself  into  it  Avith  uncalculating  ardor  and  devel- 
oped it  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  task.  To  a true  artist  there  is  no  delight 
so  great  as  to  find  or  fancy  himself  for  once  amid  ideal  conditions— free  to  do 
his  best  and  greatest,  unfettered  and  unquestioned,  Avith  no  hiAvs  or  limits  to 
respect  save  those  prescribed  by  art  itself  and  the  farthest  reach  of  his  own  pow- 
ers. It  Avoidd  be  difficult  to  say  just  Iioav  definitely  Richardson  recognized,  in 
the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  that  these  conditions  Avere  in  this  case  fancied 
and  not  found.  At  all  events,  though  he  Avas  deeply  chagrined  and  disappointed 
Avlien  the  commission  Avas  denied  him,  he  soon  realized  that  to  have  been  kept 
from  building  his  cathedral  Avas  a positive  piece  of  good  fortune.  “ It  Avould  have 
been  delightfid  Avork,”  he  often  said,  “ but  I had  not  the  time  to  spare  for  it  — 
there  is  so  much  other  Avork  to  do  and  of  so  much  more  necessary  kinds.  Fifteen 
years  of‘  labor  on  a cathedral  Avas  not  the  thing  I should  have  hoped  for.” 

Nor  Avould  it  have  been  the  best  thing  for  his  felloAV-countrymen  had  the  last 
and  strongest  years  of  Richardson’s  life  been  chiefly  occupied  in  such  a task. 
Churches  of  certain  sorts  are  needed  to-day,  of  course,  as  Avell  as  secular  struc- 
tures ; and  they  also  need  the  exercise  of  the  best  creative  poAver- — need  to  be 
adapted  and  not  copied  from  the  examples  of  some  elder  time.  To  build  a church 
like  Trinity  — large  but  not  excessively  large,  and  planned  to  meet  the  actual 
needs  of  a modern  Protestant  congregation,  — to  build  one  like  that  Baptist  church 
at  NcAvton,  Mass.,  Avhich  he  finished  but  shortly  before  his  death  — modest  in  size 
and  planned  for  a modern  congregation  Avith  special  ritual  needs,  — these  Avere 
indeed  Avorthy  tasks ; for  they  Avere  tasks  Avhich  required  for  their  right  fulfill- 
ment fresh  study  of  fundamental  problems  as  Avell  as  artistic  taste  and  knoAvledge, 
and  Avhich,  if  rightly  fulfilled,  Avould  be  of  helpful  influence  in  many  a future 
case.  But  it  is  a question  Avhether  our  modern  Protestant  America  really  needs 
a vast  and  ornate  cathedral  church  planned  on  mediaeval  lines.  And  it  is  certain 
that  even  if  Richardson  had  built  one  as  beautiful  as  his  designs  foreshadoAV,  it 
Avould  have  been  of  small  practical  aid  toAvards  the  general  development  of  Amer- 
ican art.  It  Avould  have  been  a far  more  sujAerb  monument  to  the  aesthetic  side 
of  his  power  than  anything  he  constructed.  But  it  would  not  have  been  such 


PPi  OFESSIONAL  LIFE. 


23 


a monument  to  the  practical  usefulness  of  that  power,  or  such  a projDliecy  of  the 
progress  of  our  architecture  as  a genuinely  yital  art,  as  are  the  municipal  and 
commercial  structures  u2:)on  which  instead  the  efforts  of  his  later  years  were 
spent.  No  cathedral,  however  magnificent  in  scheme  or  j^erfect  in  detail,  would 
he  worth  so  much  to  us  as  the  Pittsburgh  Court-house  or  the  great  simple 
Field  Building  in  Chicago  ; and  we  should  he  unwilling  to  take  it  in  exchange 
for  that  series  of  modest  railroad  stations  which  has  done  so  much  to  lift  the 
stigma  of  obligatory  ugliness  from  one  of  the  most  imjDortant  architectural  novel- 
ties of  our  time. 

In  liichardson’s  own  estimation  the  Pittsburgh  building  was  the  great  work  of 
his  life  — the  most  interesting  and  imj^ortant  as  a problem  and  the  most  entirely 
successful  in  result ; and  he  was  esjDecially  proud  of  the  chance  to  build  it  as  the 
invitation  to  comjDete  had  come  from  so  distant  a sj^ot  and  had  been  jDromjDted 
by  the  sight  of  his  works  alone  and  not  by  a i^ersonal  acquaintance  of  any  mem- 
ber of  the  committee  with  himself.  He  knew  his  life  might  be  very  short  and 
was  almost  feverishly  anxious  to  see  the  Court-house  comjfiete  before  he  died. 
“ Let  me  but  have  time  to  finish  Pittsburgh,”  he  often  exclaimed,  “ and  I should 
be  content  without  another  day.” 

He  had  been  gifted  with  a strong  constitution  and  a fine  j^hysique.  But  while 
in  Paris  he  met  with  a serious  accident  from  the  j:>ainful  results  of  which  he 
never  recovered,  and  for  years  before  his  death  he  suffered  from  a dangerous 
chronic  disease  that  called  for  constant  iDrecautions.  Often  he  was  kept  for  many 
days  at  home  by  its  attacks  or  actually  confined  to  his  bed ; and  he  gradually 
grew  so  very  stout  that  his  weight  alone  might  have  been  thought  an  almost 
prohibitive  obstacle  to  bodily  exertion.  Yet  in  sj^ite  of  everything  he  seemed 
much  the  most  active  and  energetic,  much  the  most  alive  of  all  the  men  one 
kneAv. 

An  intense,  immense  vitality,  physical  as  well  as  mental  and  emotional,  was  his 
most  distinctive  characteristic.  Every  one  had  been  told  that  his  life  Avas  in  dan- 
ger, but  no  one  could  believe  it  in  his  jAresence,  for  there  seemed  strength  enough 
in  him  to  do  the  Avork  of  six  and  life  enough  to  last  out  three  times  our  three- 
score years  and  ten.  Every  one  kneAV  he  suffered  greatly,  but  feAV  could  realize 
the  fact,  his  jAatience  Avas  so  unfailing,  his  sjAirits  so  high,  his  delight  in  life  so 
peculiarly  apparent.  No  man  ever  asked  less  for  jAity  or  seemingly  pitied  himself 
less  than  this  man  who,  after  a long  period  of  struggle,  Avas  noAv  on  the  tojA  Avave 
of  success  ; who  was  leading  just  the  life  amid  just  the  surroundings  Avhich  he 
Avould  have  chosen;  who  had  done  so  much  but  kncAV  so  Avell  he  could  do  so 
much  more  and  better ; Avho  felt  and  confessed  a cliildlike  pleasure  as  Avell  as  a 
manly  pride  in  his  great  talent  and  his  noble  ojAiAortunity  — and  Avas  yet  aAvare 
that  all  might  be  at  an  end  for  him  to-morroAV.  He  bore  his  great  burden  of 
professional  tasks,  domestic  responsibilities,  and  jAliysical  ills  so  buoyantly  that 
others  almost  forgot  its  magnitude  and  came  at  last  to  feel  that  he  Avas  fortu- 
nately of  a nature  to  forget  it  himself  in  the  occupations  and  attractions  of  each 
passing  hour.  It  was  difficult  to  conceive  that,  consciously  shadoAved  by  the  very 
wings  of  Death,  he  could  cherish  ambitions  so  far-reaching,  lAlans  and  projects 


24 


HEX  11 Y HOB  SOX  lUCHAlWSOX. 


so  ca2)Licioiis,  and  siiC'li  self-congratulations  on  the  happiness  of  the  j^rcsent  mo- 
ment and  the  rich  promise  of  the  future. 

Facts  and  feelings  Avliich  woidd  have  paralyzed  other  men  seemed  to  act  as  a 
stiniidant  on  llic-hardson.  Because  to-morrow  Avas  uncertain  he  Avas  bent  upon 
using  and  enjoying  to-day  to  the  full,  lie  felt  that  he  must  Avork  tAyice  as  hard 
as  though  he  Ayere  promised  longer  years ; and  he  did  thus  Ayork  yet  neA  er 
seemed  painfully  pressed  for  time.  With  his  uncertain  health  there  could  he 
little  regularity  in  his  hours  of  labor ; hut  his  poAyer  of  laboring  anyAyhere  and 
at  any  time  and  under  any  conditions  amply  made  up  for  this  apjAarent  draAvhack. 
lie  could  Avork  as  Ayell  by  night  as  by  day,  and  as  persistently  on  his  sick-bed  as 
in  his  offices  or  near  his  buildings  — and  often,  he  confessed,  to  better  adA  antage 
there  than  amid  outside  influences  and  distractions.  He  took  tremendous  jour- 
neys at  short  interyals  and  at  a rushing  rate  of  speed,  — sleeping  night  after  night 
on  the  cars,  spending  day  after  day  in  the  active  superintendence  of  construc- 
tions under  Ayay  or  in  dealing  A\ith  those  indiyidual  or  corporate  clients  Ayho  are 
sometimes  far  less  tractable  than  bricks  and  mortar,  and  at  cyery  odd  moment, 
Aylierever  he  Ayas,  planning,  inyenting,  designing,  consulting,  and  deciding.  Yet 
though  he  Ayas  ahvays  thus  absorbed  in  his  AVork,  he  Avas  by  no  means  Avholly 
tied  doAvn  to  it.  lie  had  ])lenty  of  energy  left  to  take  an  interest  in  other  things, 
and  that  sort  of  energy  Ayhich  seems  ahyays  to  make  time  to  gratify  its  Avishes. 
Ilis  early  taste  for  society  never  diminished,  and  the  calls  of  friendly  intercourse 
Avere  met  as  only  the  half-idle  are  apt  to  meet  them  in  this  hurrying  land  of 
ours.  There  Avas  no  more  frequent  guest  at  the  dinner-tables  of  Boston  and  its 
neighborhood  than  Kichardson,  none  Avhose  coming  meant  more  surely  a delight- 
fid  evening,  and  none  Avho  Avas  more  certain  to  enjoy  himself  while  delighting 
others.  The  hospitality  of  his  OAvn  hearth  and  table  Avas  as  unlimited  as  informal ; 
and  when  his  great  offices  had  become  one  of  the  sights  of  Boston,  no  stranger 
ever  failed  of  courteous  entertainment  there.  The  busiest  home  1 ever  saw, 
Richardson’s  Avas  also  the  one  Avliere  the  doors  Avere  most  generously  opened 
and  Avhere  the  Avelcome  seemed  most  heartfelt  and  perennial.  And  even  in  his 
rapid  professional  journeys  he  took  care  to  airange  beforehand  so  that  every 
spare  hour  might  be  devoted  to  those  friends  Avhom  he  Avould  find  along  his  path, 
and  that  many  of  the  hours  of  actual  labor  might  be  made  to  yield  their  fruit  in 
pleasant  companionship  as  Avell. 

Ahvays  ready  to  talk  of  himself  and  eager  to  talk  of  his  Avork,  he  Avas  neither 
egotistical  nor  narroAV.  His  sympathies  Avere  very  Avide  and  sensitive,  and  his 
chosen  associates  Avere  men  Avho,  Avhile  they  understood  his  art  and  intelligently 
valued  his  achievements  and  his  aims,  trod  themselves  in  other  paths  than  his. 
Artists  of  one  kind  and  another  Avere,  indeed,  among  them,  but  clergymen  and 
literary  men  and  men  of  business  and  of  science  stood  just  as  near  to  him  in 
friendship  and  served  his  intellectual  needs  as  Avell.  If  the  long  list  of  their 
names  could  be  given,  it  AVOuld  shoAV  them  all  to  be  men  of  excejitionally  strong 
and  interesting  individuality,  but  Avould  also  shoAV  that  Avhat  bound  them  and 
Richardson  together  Avas  the  mere  fact  of  this  individuality  — this  personal  Avorth 
or  poAver  — and  not  any  narrower  analogy  betAveen  their  peculiar  gifts  or  aims 
or  dispositions  and  his  OAvn. 


PliOFESSIONAL  LIFE. 


25 


It  is  another  characteristic  fact  that  even  when  he  turned  to  books  for  refresh- 
ment it  was  not  reposeful  words  he  sought.  There  was  little  time  in  his  life  for 
desultory  reading,  but  I remember  his  saying  that  when  he  was  too  tired  and  ill 
for  work  or  social  intercourse,  — as  just  before  his  European  trij)  in  1882,  — he 
always  wanted  a book  in  his  hand  by  day  and  under  his  pillow  at  night,  and  always 
the  most  exciting  he  could  find ; and  I remember  his  naming  Gaborian’s  detec- 
tive stories  at  the  head  of  the  list  of  those  which  had  most  satisfactorily  met  his 
needs. 


CHAPTER  V. 


liUllOPEAN  JOUKNEY. 

IHciiardson’s  way  of  living-  showed  an  energy,  a breadth  of  mind,  and  a fresh- 
ness ol‘  leeling  whieh  u roiight  their  own  well-s])rings  of  renewal.  The  fact  that 
after  and  even  during  his  working  hours,  he  coidd  turn  to  outside  men  and  things 
with  such  eager  interest,  kept  him  young  and  sympathetie  and  alive  in  every  fibre, 
and  enabled  him  to  do  the  work  itself  in  a more  fresh  and  vigorous  way  than 
would  have  been  possible  had  he  allowed  himself  to  he  exclusively  absorbed  by  it. 

Naturally,  such  receptive  and  assimilative  power  is  a gift  like  any  other.  To 
all  strenuous  men  life  is  made  up  of  labor  and  of  rest ; but  each  must  take  his  rest 
as  nature  has  decreed  he  may,  and  only  a fortunate  few  can  take  it  as  Richardson 
took  his  — in  the  way  not  of  literal  repose  of  mind  and  body,  hut  of  stimulating 
and  fecundating  action  upon  other  lines.  After  a hard  day’s  work  in  the  office 
or  a long  journey  by  rail,  and  with  half  a night  of  labor  still  before  him,  to  sit 
down  at  a big  dinner-table  fidl  of  diversely  assorted  guests  and  talk  hrilliantly 
and  incessantl}'  for  a couple  of  hours  on  desultory  themes,  — this  would  hardly 
he  refreshment  lor  the  average  man.  But  “ This  is  the  way  I rest,”  Richardson 
Avould  often  exclaim  on  such  occasions,  with  boyish  delight  in  his  power  to  give 
truth  to  the  words.  Nothing  about  him  was  more  remarkable  than  the  manner 
in  which  he  woidd  then  throw  off  his  burden  of  thought  and  responsibility  — 
unless,  indeed,  it  Avere  the  manner  in  Avhich  he  Avould  take  it  up  once  more,  fresh- 
ened by  the  interval  hut  as  Avholly  and  deeply  in  his  task  again  as  though  no 
alien  idea  had  crossed  his  mind.  Often,  Avhen  one  rememhered  his  physical  con- 
dition, it  seemed  as  though  it  Avould  need  hut  a fcAV  days  like  those  he  persisted  in 
li^  ing  to  exhaust  him  utterly.  But  again  it  seemed  as  though  his  will,  his  activity, 
his  delight  in  life  Avere  Avhat  kept  death  at  bay.  Some  one  once  exclaimed, 
“ Richardson  is  all  right  — he  will  never  take  time  to  die  ” ; and  no  Avords  could 
more  accurately  express  the  feeling  he  inspired.  It  Avas  only  a few  Aveeks  before 
his  death  that  after  a round  of  his  croAvded  offices  he  paused  to  say : “ There  is 
lots  of  Avork  to  do,  is  n’t  there  ? And  such  Avork  ! And  then  to  think  that  I 
may  die  here  in  this  office  at  any  moment.”  But  the  Avords  were  so  simply  and 
bravely  said,  and  he  seemed  to  think  so  much  more  of  the  work  than  of  the  dan- 
ger, that  the  next  phrase  did  not  strike  the  ear  as  an  unnatural  sequence  : “ Well, 
there  is  no  man  in  the  Avhole  Avorld  that  enjoys  life  Avhile  it  lasts  as  I do.”  Al- 
Avays  in  the  doctors’  hands,  he  Avas  certainly  not  Avliat  is  called  “ a good  patient,” 
— the  demands  of  the  moment  Averc  too  imperious  Avith  him  for  consequences  to 
he  often  borne  in  mind.  Yet  if  the  Avish  to  live,  the  imperious  desire  to  get  Avell, 
are  indeed  among  the  physician’s  mightiest  helpers,  Richardson  aided  his  Avith  a 
titanic  hand. 


EUROPEAN  JOURNEY. 


27 


The  vacations  he  took  were  few,  hut  he  enjoyed  them  greatly  and  in  character- 
istic fashion. 

“ In  1875,”  writes  his  intimate  friend,  Mr.  Frederick  Laiv  Olmsted,  “we  went 
on  a ‘ Cook’s  Tour,’  together  with  our  families,  resting  at  Trenton  Falls,  Buffalo, 
Niagara,  Montreal,  Quebec,  and  among  the  White  Mountains.  It  was  the  first 
vacation  of  his  2)i'ofessional  life,  and  was  always  afterwards  referred  to  as  his 
‘ wedding  journey.’ 

“ The  whole-heartedness  with  which  he  gave  himself  nj)  to  enjoyment  for  the 
time  being  was  the  most  interesting  circumstance  of  the  journey.  I have  never 
seen  the  like  of  it,  even  in  a school-boy.  At  Niagara  this  was  shown  in  association 
with  another  quality.  He  refused  to  take  j^art  in  discussing,  or  to  consider  at  all 
how  we  should  jwoceed,  saying,  ‘ This  is  a matter  in  which  you  are  an  exjDcrt,  and 
I will  not  take  off  the  least  share  of  your  resi^onsibility.’  And  though  my  jDolicy 
was  the  reverse  of  that  which  is  generally  adoj)ted  and  which  he  would  naturally 
have  taken  to,  he  showed  no  imiDatience,  but  made  the  most  of  whatever  was 
enjoyable  for  the  moment,  never  asking  what  was  to  come  afterwards.  We  were 
out  several  hours  without  coming  in  sight  of  the  Falls  — did  not  see  them  fairly, 
indeed,  till  the  next  day.  When  we  did  he  had  caught  the  idea  of  throwing 
curiosity  aside  and  avoiding  amazement,  and  was  willing  to  sit  for  hours  in  one 
place  conteniiDlatively  enjoying  the  beauty,  saying  little  of  what  was  before  us  and 
chatting  not  a little  of  other  matters,  but  taking  quiet  pleasure  and  laying  iq) 
j^leasure.  At  Quebec,  on  the  other  hand,  he  took  command,  and  all  the  way  to 
Montgomery  he  was  studying  the  little  old  French  larmhonses,  and  considering 
how  much  more  j^leasant  they  were  than  such  cottages  as  we  were  accustomed  to, 
in  which  so  much  more  had  been  done  to  jilcase.” 

In  the  Slimmer  of  1882  Richardson  took  the  only  long  vacation  of  his  later  life. 
A European  journey  was  decided  ujion,  jiartly  that  he  might  be  taken  quite 
away  from  business  and  jiartly  that  certain  sjiecialists  in  London  might  be  con- 
sulted about  his  health.  Ilis  comiianions  at  the  start  and  during  many  subse- 
quent weeks  were  the  Rev.  Phillijis  Brooks  of  Boston,  the  Rev.  AVilliam  McA^ickar 
of  Philadelphia,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Franks  of  Salem,  and  Mr.  Jaqiies,  a young  friend 
from  his  own  office.  London,  Paris,  the  south  of  France,  and  the  north  of  Italy 
were  visited,  and  then  Richardson,  accompanied  only  by  his  tDiq^il,  took  a flying 
trij)  through  the  central  and  northern  jiarts  of  Spain,  going  into  some  districts 
where  even  the  architectural  tourist  seldom  jienetrates,  but  whither  he  was 
attracted,  more  strongly  than  to  the  Moorish  jirovinces,  by  the  jn-esence  of  many 
Romanesque  niouuments  little  known  to  fame  or  the  iihotograjiher.  Mr.  Jaques’s 
account  of  the  trij:),  recently  written  down  from  memory,  rims  in  abbreviated  form 
as  follows  : ^ — 

“ Mr.  Richardson’s  enthusiasm  carried  him  through  as  a traveler  just  as  it  did 
at  home,  and  his  ivonderfiil  vitality  and  endurance  were  never  more  fully  tested 
than  they  were  then.  Mr.  Brooks  was  a most  tremendous  traveler,  and  Mr. 
Richardson  would  not  be  outdone  ; and  when  I sa}'  that  we  visited  tliirt}  -three 

^ Mr.  Jaques’s  long  letter  was  kindly  written  for  iny  tured  to  use  tliein  witli  only  such  excisions  as  the  neccssi- 
information  only ; but  his  own  words  are  so  much  nioi’o  ties  of  space  compelled, 
interesting  than  any  paraphrase  could  be  that  1 have  ven- 


28 


IIFXIIY  HOBSON  lUCHAFiDSON. 


towns  in  tliirty-two  days,  it  gives  some  idea  of  the  rate  at  whieli  we  journeyed. 
Xigiit  or  day  it  made  no  differenee,  and  not  until  we  reached  Yenicc  did  it  seem 
to  tell  112)011  him,  though  his  great  weight  must  have  made  it  douhly  hard  for  him. 
lie  was  off  for  a holiday  and  was  hound  by  no  rules  of  health  or  diet,  though  they 
were  all  written  down  lor  him  and  I was  su])2)osed  to  enforce  them ! He  rarely 
gave  his  ini2)ressions  of  things  he  saw  exeejit  when  in  just  the  right  mood,  and 
woidd  often  lie  enthusiastic  to  a degree  over  some  trivial  2^f>hit,  and  wholly  silent 
over  a magnifieent  work  that  iniiiressed  him  tremendously. 

“ On  arriving  in  London  (July  1)  he  saw^  Sir  Janies  Paget  and  Sir  William  Gull, 
who  took  great  interest  in  his  case  and  jironouneed  his  heart  sound  and  his  dis- 
ease not  necessarily  fatal.  They  iirescribed  lor  him  carefully  and  gave  yarious 
directions,  all  of  which  he  immediately  began  to  disregard  because  he  felt  so  much 
better  o)'er  the  results  of  their  examination.  He  showed  his  desire  to  carry  out 
their  iustructioiis  more  by  hiring  a landau  by  the  week  with  a j^rivate  coachman 
than  by  regularity  of  meals  and  hours. 

“ In  London  he  sjient  much  time  in  seeing  the  ordinary  street  sights,  and  vis- 
ited ^■ery  few  historical  monuments  exce2)t  Westminster  and  the  Tenijile.  The 
new  lanv  Courts  did  not  incase  or  interest  him,  hut  he  was  greatly  interested  in 
the  scheme  of  heating  and  ventilating  in  the  Houses  of  Parliament. 

“ He  visited  Mr.  II.  Phene  8})iers,  wdioin  he  had  known  in  Paris,  and  through 
him  ])roeured  letters  to  Mr.  Pullen,  wdiich  gave  admission  to  Mr.  Burgess’s  house. 
Mr.  llichardson  w ent  over  it  very  carefully,  hut  on  the  whole  was  rather  disaj)- 
|)ointed  in  it,  in  s])ite  of  his  great  interest  in  Mr.  Burgess.  It  did  not  come  u})  to 
his  ideal.  At  Merton  Abbey  Mr.  William  Morris  ha2)2)ened  to  be  in,  and  he  went 
])ersonally  wdth  us  over  the  Avorks  and  gave  extremely  interesting  accounts  of  the 
2)rogress  he  had  made  in  the  manufacture  of  his  glass,  car2)ets,  stulfs,  etc.  He 
seemed  to  take  great  interest  in  Mr.  llichardson  and  left  his  owm  l^arty  to  drive 
to  town  Avith  ours.  The  visit  to  Morris’s  house,  and  the  five-o’clock-tea  there  on 
the  folloAviug  Sunday  Avith  the  various  ‘ aesthetes,’  a\  as  an  exiAerience  long  to  be 
remembered.  He  Morgan  <also  shoAved  him  great  attention,  and  Mr.  llichardson 
had  an  unbounded  enthusiasm  for  his  Avork.  He  Avent  through  many  of  the  iieAV 
London  houses,  but  was  much  im])rcssed  Avith  their  lack  of  interest  and  individu- 
ality. Burne-Jones  Avas  visited,  and  in  fact  all  of  the  men  aaIioiu  Ave  Avere  told 
Avere  ‘ unaiAin’oachable  ’ received  Mr.  llichardson  most  cordially. 

“ The  tri|)  to  Paris  aa  as  made  on  July  13th.  Then  the  running  began.  At 
midday  on  the  15th  the  start  Avas  made  for  Chartres,  and  the  afternoon  Avas  sjieiit 
there,  Mr.  llichardson  being  very  loud  in  his  admiration.  At  nine  p.  m.  Ave  Avere 
off  for  Le  Mans,  Avliich  Ave  reached  in  the  early  morning.  Monday  morning  at 
five  Ave  began  a seventeen-hour  journey  to  Clermont.  Mr.  llichardson  was  not 
especially  interested  at  Le  Mans,  but  Notre-Htmie-du-Port,  at  Clermont,  aroused 
all  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  shoAved  his  persistency  by  routing  out  a ])hotogra2)her 
AA  ho  Avas  miAvilling  to  be  knoAA  n,  and  spent  the  time  u})  to  the  last  moment  in  run- 
ning over  his  coveted  negatives. 

“ Of  course  the  Auvergne  churches  Avere  of  particular  interest  to  him,  and  he 
studied  them  critically,  but  silently  for  the  most  part  — rarely  talking  of  them 
save  in  the  most  general  Avay. 


E mi  OP  FAN  JO  UPiNEY, 


29 


“ Tlie  journey  from  Clermont  to  Issoire  was  made  at  night,  and  after  spending 
some  time  at  the  church  (going  to  the  hotel  was  quite  out  of  the  question),  we 
took  a four-in-hand  for  St.  Nectaire.  This  trip  has  to  he  made  to  form  any  ade- 
quate idea  of  it.  From  the  standpoint  of  pure  j)leasure  in  traveling  it  was  the 
most  delightful  trip  we  took.  Mr.  liichardson  was  much  interested  in  the  little 
church  in  the  clouds,  and  walked  up  the  steep  path  twice  to  see  it.  He  fairly 
raved  over  it  as  an  example  of  early  work  — the  more  so,  perhaps,  as  the  others 
laughed  at  the  rude  structure  and  ungainly  restorations.  On  returning  to  Issoire 
the  church  was  again  visited  and  an  evening  train  taken  for  Brioude,  where  the 
cathedral  was  seen  before  breakfast  and  the  nine  o’clock  train  taken  for  Nismes. 

“ Next  we  went  to  Avignon  and  then  to  dirty  old  Arles  with  its  vile  hotels  and 
lazy  populace  and  lovely  architecture.  Mr.  Richardson  fairly  raved  over  St.  Tro- 
phime,  and  wanted  to  bring  Norcross  and  Evans ^ over  at  once  to  see  ‘ some  really 
good  work.’  Some  of  the  party  would  not  stay  over  night,  hut  Mr.  Ivichardson 
insisted  upon  remaining  so  as  to  see  St.  Trophime  again.  He  was  charmed  with 
its  lovely  carving  and  details. 

“ The  trip  to  St.  Gilles  was  very  trying  and  disagreeable,  hut  Ave  Avere  more 
than  repaid.  Mr.  Richardson  Avas  not  as  mnch  taken  Avith  the  porch  as  at  Arles, 
but  spent  mnch  time  in  tracing  the  plan  from  the  ruins.  The  travel  noAV  Avas 
very  hard,  and  it  Avas  Avonderful  to  see  hoAV  his  enthusiasm  carried  him  along. 

“ At  Marseilles  Ave  rested  a day  or  tAvo,  and  Mr.  Richardson  spent  the  time  in 
shopping,  as  he  Avas  apt  to  do  in  the  large  towns.  Thence  Ave  took  the  steamer  to 
Leghorn  and  the  train  to  Pisa.  The  Campo  Santo  occupied  much  time,  and  Mr. 
Richardson  was  much  taken  Avith  it.  As  everyAvhere,  all  his  spare  moments  Avere 
spent  in  getting  photographs.  The  toAver,  cathedral,  and  baptistry  jdcased  him 
immensely,  and  he  studied  them  carefully  from  every  point  of  vieAV,  and  said  that 
as  a Avhole  the  group  Avas  the  finest  thing  he  had  seen  in  Europe.  One  can  imag- 
ine how  its  mere  size  delighted  him. 

“ As  one  of  the  party  Avas  quite  ill  Ave  settled  doAvn  for  a full  week  at  Genoa. 
We  explored  all  the  out-of-the-Avay  corners,  finding  bits  here  and  there,  honght 
lace,  saAV  every  junk-shop  in  toAvn  and  hosts  of  paintings  until  Ave  felt  like  natives. 
The  next  journey  brought  us  to  Elorence,  Avhere  Ave  made  a stay  of  several  days. 
What  Avith  architecture,  scul2Ature,  and  painting,  and  ice-cold  lemonade  on  every 
street  corner,  Mr.  Richardson’s  cuja  Avas  full  to  the  brim,  and  he  Avould  have  stayed 
a year  had  he  had  his  Avish.  He  Avas  much  impressed  Avith  the  staircase  and  court 
of  the  National  Museum,  and  also  of  course  Avith  the  frescoes  in  Santa  Croce  and 
elseAvhere  and  the  i)icture-galleries  Avhere  he  sjAent  much  time. 

“ From  Florence  an  excursion  AA^as  made  to  Siena  and  Orvieto.  It  Avas  a great 
temjAtation  for  Mr.  Richardson  to  go  to  Rome  Avhen  Ave  Avere  so  near,  hnt  he  was 
deterred  by  the  terrible  heat.  Bologna  Avas  then  visited  and  a flying  trip  made  to 
Ravenna,  Avhere  Ave  arrived  just  before  noon  only  to  leaA^e  again  at  dusk.  Rest 
Avas  out  of  the  (question.  Not  Avaiting  even  for  food,  Ave  Avere  off'  sight-seeing. 
Church  and  toinl),  one  after  another,  street  after  street,  Mr.  Richardson’s  enthusi- 
asm kneAV  no  hounds,  and  even  the  long  drive  to  Hadrian’s  tomb  and  St.  Apollina- 
ris  did  not  suffice  to  exhaust  him.  From  Ravenna  hack  to  Bologna,  and  then  to 

* Tlie  builder  and  the  arcliitectural  sculptor  to  whom  tlie  execution  of  most  of  his  work  was  intrusted. 


30 


HEXBY  HOBSON  EICJIAIWSON. 


Padua  and  Ycnicc,  did  not  oecup}'  miicdi  time  — sight-seeing  by  day  and  traveling 
by  night. 

“ If  Pavenna  made  Mr.  Piebardson  silent  and  tbougbtful,  Yeiiice  bad  the  oppo- 
site etfect.  lie  disregarded  all  advice,  orders,  and  entreaties,  ‘ went  in  for  a good 
time,’  — and  bad  it.  One  dreaded  to  see  the  long  ‘schooners’  of  iced  beer  set 
before  him,  and  order  upon  order  for  ices  given  at  Bauer’s.  From  early  prowls 
almost  at  daylight  until  the  midnight  carnival  on  the  Grand  Canal,  be  ivas  out  and 
about  and  seemed  to  begrudge  a moment’s  rest.  The  first  thing  after  breakfast 
was  always  a visit  to  St.  Mark’s.  Then  a trij)  to  IMurano  and  the  islands  and  a 
supper  at  the  Lido,  or  long  trips  to  odd  corners  in  search  of  jDicturcs,  or  hour  after 
hour  at  the  junk-shops,  or  whole  mornings  at  Salviati’s  glass-works.  Mr.  Pichard- 
son  wanted  to  buy  the  whole  place,  and  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  at  least 
buying  Salviati  out.  How  he  stood  it  all  I cannot  see.  But  though  he  did  much 
more  than  any  one  of  us  he  did  not  seem  tired,  Avhile  we  were  only  too  glad  to 
cra^vl  into  some  hole  and  sit  down  from  sheer  exhaustion.  I was  glad  for  his  sake 
to  get  marching  orders  again  and  start  for  Padua  and  Yerona.  Yet  even  on  reach- 
ing Yerona  at  dusk  he  must  go  at  once  to  see  8t.  Zeno.  Then,  however,  he  gave 
in  and  was  quite  ill  for  a few  days,  but  he  soon  recovered  and  was  well  enough 
to  travel  even  on  these  ill  days.  Yenice  had  filled  him  to  the  brim,  and  it  was 
enchanting  to  sec  his  genuine  delight  and  almost  childlike  glee. 

“ In  Milan  he  was  confined  to  his  room  for  two  days,  but  passed  the  time  in 
writing  up  his  correspondence  and  prej^aring  long  letters  to  a building  committee 
at  home.  lie  went  wild  here  over  8t.  Ambroise  and  tried  in  every  way  to  get 
photographs  of  it.  Here  it  was  the  party  broke  up. 

“ Crossing  from  Genoa  to  Marseilles,  Mr.  Pichardson  was  very  ill,  for  the  boat 
was  vile  and  the  sea  very  high.  He  could  take  no  breakfast,  and,  what  with  arriv- 
ing late  and  spending  a weary  hour  in  the  custom-house,  we  did  not  get  to  the 
hotel  and  food  until  four  p.  m.  Yet  he  was  soon  ready  to  start  again,  and  at  eleven 
the  next  morning  we  were  off  for  Perpignan,  arriving  there  at  midnight.  The 
next  morning  we  went  on  to  Fine,  and  wandered  through  the  lovely  cloister, 
though  Ave  Avere  not  in  very  good  condition  to  enjoy  it.  On  reaching  the  lonely 
raihvay  station,  after  driving  through  a Avilderness  of  mud  in  a blinding  rain,  Ave 
found  that  the  train  for  Barcelona  did  not  stop  there  until  the  next  day ! But 
Ave  made  out  that  by  going  back  to  Perpignan  at  one  Ave  could  leave  there  at  five 
and  reach  Barcelona  soon  after  midnight. 

“ Barcelona  did  not  interest  Mr.  Pichardson  as  much  as  some  of  the  French 
toAvns,  but  he  Avas  very  tired.  A start  at  nine  the  next  morning  brought  us  at 
midnight  to  8aragossa.  The  next  day,  8unday,  avc  Avalkcd  about  the  toAvn  and 
enjoyed  thoroughly  the  lovely  brick- Avork.  Mr,  Pichardson  was  tremendously 
enthusiastic  over  the  brick  mosaics  on  the  Avail  of  La  Zeo,  and  also  Avith  La  Longa, 
Avhich  he  called  superb.  It  Avas  here  that  Ave  measured  some  brick-Avork  and 
found  the  bricks  one  and  one-eighth  inches  thick,  Avhile  the  joints  Avere  one  and 
one-fourth.  The  toAver  of  8an  Miguel  and  the  one  called  nueva  o inclinada  also 
delighted  him.  And  here  too  Ave  found  doorAvays  Avith  voussoirs  eight  feet  long, 
— in  the  Pittsburgh  jail  one  may  see  the  effect.  Taken  altogether,  8aragossa  Avas 
so  lovely  that  it  Avhetted  Mr.  Pichardson’s  appetite  to  press  on.  At  Madrid  the 


EUROPEAN  JOURNEY. 


31 


language  got  too  much  for  us,  and  we  engaged  an  interpreter  who  would  take  the 
palm  in  any  country  as  a liar,  but  was  so  energetic  that  we  saw  a great  deal  with 
him  that  otherwise  we  should  have  missed.  He  was  the  man  who  told  us,  one 
cold  night,  that  the  train  was  late  because  the  water  had  frozen  in  the  locomotive 
boilers. 

“ In  Madrid  we  spent  most  of  our  time  in  the  galleries  and  in  the  lower  quar- 
ters of  the  city  Avatching  the  ])eople.  We  made  a trip  to  Toledo,  and  though  the 
heat  Avas  excessive  Ave  ‘ did  ’ the  Avhole  town  and  then  Avent  back  to  Madrid, 
sent  our  trunks  to  Burgos  and  started  in  light  marching  order  - — giving  up  the 
proposed  southern  trip  and  turning  nortliAvard.  To  give  an  idea  of  Mr.  Richard- 
son’s strength  and  endurance,  here  is  another  time-table : — 

“We  left  Madrid  at  eight  a.  m.  and  arrived  at  Avila  at  three  p.  m.  ; left  there 
at  nine  p.  m.  and  arrived  at  Medina  del  Campo  at  midnight. 

“ Then  to  a hotel  until  three  a.  m.,  and  then  (by  the  only  possible  train)  to  Sal- 
amanca at  ten  minutes  joast  four,  arriving  at  nine  A.  M. 

“ Avila  was  Avithout  exception  the  most  quaint  and  interesting  toAAui  Ave  saw  in 
SjAain.  The  hotel  had  one  large  room  Avith  a brick  floor  and  a great  oak  door 
through  Avhich  the  omnibus  — that  had  evidently  been  in  use  tAvo  hundred  years 
— drove  directly  into  the  house.  Richardson  Avas  fairly  overcome  Avith  delight  in 
the  cathedral ; the  spacing  of  the  columns  in  the  aisles  in  the  apse  Avas  curious 
and  most  lovely,  and  it  Avas  here  that  he  made  the  scheme  for  the  plan  of  the 
Albany  cathedral.  He  simply  drank  in  every  part  of  the  building  and  Avas  enthu- 
siastic to  a degree.  The  Avhole  of  Avila  Avas  charming,  and  great  gates  AAuth  eight 
or  ten  foot  voussoirs  abounded. 

“ Of  course  the  cathedral  at  Salamanca  (the  old  one)  Avas  of  great  interest  to  us, 
and  Ave  passed  a great  deal  of  time  there.  Mr.  Richardson  had  never  seen  even  a 
good  photograjAh  of  it.^  To  Zamora  Ave  drove  four-in-hand,  but  it  did  not  take  us 
long  to  make  up  our  minds  that  in  SjAain,  at  least,  the  cars  Avere  preferable  for 
night  travel.  There  Avas  much  to  interest  us  in  this  toAvn,  and  in  the  cathedral  Ave 
especially  remarked  the  curious  treatment  of  the  toAver  over  the  crossing  of  nave 
and  transepts.  Next  Ave  took  a roundabout  journey  to  Toro,  Avhich  gave  us  many 
Aveary  hours  of  night  travel.  But  the  journeys  in  this  part  of  the  country  Avere 
extremely  interesting,  and  the  very  delays  and  vexations  gave  a certain  novelty  to 
the  experience.  At  Toro  Ave  felt  indeed  in  Spain.  A clumsy  chariot  arrangement 
took  us  to  an  inn  Avhere  the  entrance  Avas  j^aved  with  cobble-stones  and  man  and 
beast  Avent  in  at  the  same  door.  On  one  side  Avas  the  dining-room  and  kitclien 
and  on  the  other  the  office  and  stores,  Avhile  the  Avhole  rear  Avas  occupied  by  the 
stable  — one  long  room  Avith  an  earth  floor  and  a manger  running  the  Avhole 
length.  Above  this  Avere  the  bedrooms.  The  cooking  Avas  all  done  Avith  oil  and 
plenty  of  it,  and  Ave  Avere  apt  to  leave  our  dinner  almost  untasted  and  stop  on  oiu- 
driAX‘  and  steal  some  grapes  and  buy  sour  bread  to  eat  Avith  them.  The  cathedi’al 
is  extremely  interesting  and  Avell  placed,  and  all  of  these  northern  toAvns  gaA  e IMr. 
Richardson  the  greatest  delight.  At  ’foro  the  hotel-keeper,  Avho  had  been  there 
seventeen  years,  had  never  seen  an  American  though  several  Englishmen  had  been 

^ It  was  the  tower  of  tl\e  old  cathedral  of  Salamanca  that  had  given  Richardson  his  idea  for  that  of  Trinity  Church 
in  Boston. 


32 


IIENJIY  HOB  SOX  BICIIAIUJSON. 


tlierc.  The  rooms  all  had  hrick  floors,  and  any  article  of  linen  was  gone  if  it 
dr()]3ped  upon  them.  But  the  beds  Avere  neat  to  a degree  — ahvays  clean,  and 
each  sheet  and  pillow-case  edged  Avith  lace.  From  Toro  Ave  went  to  Medina  del 
Canipo,  A\diere  aax'  Avalked  about  all  day  in  a cold  Avind  until  midnight.  Yenta  de 
Banos  came  next,  and  then  Leon.  Then  Yenta  de  Banos  again,  and  then  Burgos. 
All  the  trains  Avere  late  and  the  travel  A'ery  hard,  but  Ave  had  many  amusing  mis- 
haps and  experiences  Avhich  relieved  the  monotony,  though  they  tried  our  endur- 
ance and  our  tempers  sorely.  At  Leon  they  Avere  restoring  the  cathedral,  and  Ave 
Avere  received  very  kindly  at  the  architect’s  office,  shoAvn  the  Avorking-drawings, 
and  taken  all  over  the  building.  If  I rememher  rightly,  the  roof  had  ffillen  in 
and  they  Avere  rebuilding  the  yaidts.  At  an  old  church  (I  forget  the  name) 
the  crypt  Avas  fine  — great,  fat,  stuni})y  columns,  strong,  robust  caps,  and  massive 
vaulting,  just  after  Mr.  Richardson’s  OAvn  heart. 

“Though  short  and  hurried  in  the  extreme,  our  trip  in  Spain  was  most  delight- 
ful. I may  have  given  more  idea  of  the  hardships  than  of  the  architecture,  but 
every  day  Avas  fidl  of  pleasure  and  instruction,  and  Mr.  Richardson  drank  in  his 
fill  of  the  lovely  eleventh-to-thirteenth  century  Avork.  Want  of  time  and  the 
hard  travel  Avere  the  only  things  that  kept  us  from  going  to  the  extreme  north- 
Avest  Avhere  there  Avere  no  railroiids. 

“ We  had  a most  charming  ride  through  the  Pyrenees  to  Bayonne,  and  left 
the  next  day  for  Poitiers.  Here  Mr.  Richardson  Avas  fairl}'  Avild  with  delight. 
Notre- Dame  and  the  houses  alike  filled  him  Avith  admiration,  and  he  raved  over 
cai’A'ings  and  details  for  hours.  From  Poitiers  Ave  came  to  Paris,  Avhere  Ave 
passed  a Aveek.  Mr.  Richardson  looked  up  his  old  friends,  especially  Gerhardt, 
and  had  long  talks  Avith  them.  They  Avere  much  interested  in  his  work  and 
not  a little  aAved.  lie  talked  long  and  urgently  about  their  giving  up  the  old 
cut-and-dried-course  and  Avorking  out  their  own  archiiecture.  The  arguments 
Avere  entertaining,  and  Mr.  Richardson  threAV  his  whole  soul  into  them,  but 
Avithout  avail.  Public  opinion  Avas  too  strong  and  government  positions  too 
necessary.  Of  course  Ave  spent  much  time  at  the  Sclrool,  in  the  Louvre,  Notre- 
Dame,  and  various  churches,  but  did  not  make  a business  of  sight-seeing. 

“ Then  there  Avas  a social  Aveek  in  London,  and  the  steamer  for  home  was 
taken  on  September  27th.” 

It  Avas  a marvelous  journey  for  a man  in  Richardson’s  state  of  health  ; yet 
it  left  him  better  in  body,  refreshed  in  spirit,  and  greatly  strengthened  in  his  art. 

Such  speed  of  foot  as  his  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  similar  rate  at 
Avhich  the  indifferent  or  merely  curious  tourist  sometimes  travels  — though  even 
he,  I should  imagine,  not  very  frequently.  When  a man  knows  just  where  he 
Avants  to  go  and  Avhy,  aa  hat  he  Avants  to  see  and  exactly  hoAV,  which  things  are 
essential  and  Avhich  superfluous,  Avhich  are  to  be  glanced  at  and  which  studied, 
and  Avhen  his  mind  has  been  prepared  for  seeing  and  studying  and  remembering 
by  jAi’cvious  professional  training,  a day  in  one  spot  Avill  shoAV  him  more,  and  leave 
permanently  AAuth  him  infinitely  more,  than  a month  could  compass  in  the  ordi- 
nary tourist’s  case.  It  must  also  be  remembered  that  Richardson  Avas  not  eAxn 
an  architect  traveling  to  widen  general  knoAvledge  by  the  sight  of  all  possible 


E UR  OPE  AN  JO  URNEY. 


33 


arcliitcctiiral  things  so  much  as  an  architect  who  had  a special  concern  with  cer- 
tain special  things  as  bearing  upon  his  already  established  manner  of  practice. 
AYlien  time  permitted  he  took  the  most  eager  interest  in  work  of  every  age  and 
kind ; but  a single  glance  at  a building  could  tell  him  whether  or  no  he  Avanted 
— or,  rather,  needed  — critically  to  examine  it ; and  an  hour’s  examination  could 
teach  him  Avhat  he  needed  most  to  know  about  it.  And  the  serious  way  in  Avhich 
he  studied,  desj^ite  perpetual  haste,  discomfort,  and  fatigue,  is  told  in  this  passage 
from  one  of  his  letters  home  : — 

Zakagoza,  August  27. 

“ I kiiOAY  that  I am  getting  great  good  from  my  trip,  hnt  at  the  moment,  in  the 
midst  of  it,  I feel  as  if  I Avere  in  a whirl,  althongh  I am  doing  things  as  thor- 
oughly as  I can  by  reading  up  before  visiting  places,  and  then  reading  Avhile  sight- 
seeing, and  studying  again  in  the  evening.  To  attempt  to  sketch  Avould  he  folly 
as  I have  hardly  time  thoroughly  to  see  things,  Avhich  is  a preliminary  and  indis- 
pensable forerunner  to  an  intelligent  sketch.  I have  seen  too  many  sketches  that 
Avere  telling  evidence  that  the  sketcher  had  never  properly  seen  Avhat  he  thought 
he  Avas  draAving.  I am  constantly  surprised  at  the  lack  of  intelligence  shoAvn  in 
choosing  jAarts  to  he  photographed ; but  probably  I look  at  it  as  a sjAecialist.  . . .” 

These  letters  — voluminous  but  very  hastily  Avritten,  often  in  jAencil  Avhile  actu- 
ally en  route  — are  chiefly  filled  Avith  personal  details  and  references  to  affairs  at 
home,  mingled  Avith  gay  descriptions  of  the  general  aspect  of  the  various  toAvns, 
the  peasants’  costumes,  the  contents  of  bric-a-brac  shops,  and  the  laughable  if  tir- 
ing and  annoying  incidents  of  traxel.  They  are  therefore  chiefly  significant  as 
shoAving  hoAV  eager  an  interest  he  could  take  in  every  trifle  that  met  his  eye,  ex- 
hausted though  one  might  think  he  must  have  been  by  the  double  strain  of  inces- 
sant and  uncomfortable  travel  and  persistent  professional  sight-seeing.  Definite 
descrijAtion  or  estimate  of  the  imjAortant  things  he  saAV  does  not  frequently  occur 
in  them.  Yet  one  or  tAvo  citations  Avill  be  of  interest.  AYhile  still  in  France  he 
Avrites  : — 

“ AVe  started  from  Avignon  for  Arles  at  about  eight  o’clock  in  the  morning.  . . . 
St.  Trophime  Avas  by  far  the  most  interesting  portal  Ave  have  seen  and  the  cloister 
Avas  charming,  full  of  the  nicest  feeling.  ...  In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day 
Ave  drove  out  to  St.  Gilles,  a place  noted  only  for  the  remains  of  its  most  superb 
abbey-church.  It  is  glorious,  and  the  ruins  of  the  apse  impressed  me  more  than 
anything  I have  seen  — and  I don’t  forget  its  magnificent  Avest  entrance  Avhich 
for  so  many  years  has  been  my  greut  admiration.  To  think  that  I have  seen 
it  and  felt  its  influence  so  differently  from  the  Avay  one  does  from  photographs ! 

Tell  S that  I feel  as  if  I Avere  being  mentidly  and  sentimentally  stuffed  Avith 

ptite  de  foie  (/ras,  and  expect  to  have  an  artistic  indigestion  for  the  rest  of  my  life 
unless  he  shakes  things  doAvn  a little  for  me  Avhen  I get  back.” 

And  among  the  Spanish  notes  are  these  : — 

“ Zaragoza  is  a most  interesting  toAvn  — more  so  historically  than  artistically, 
though  there  are  some  fine  things  about  the  cathedral.  The  general  feeling  of 
the  interior  is  noble  and  big,  and  it  has  a most  charming  octagonal  dcAine  beauti- 
fully studded  in  brick  and  tile,  and  a very  interesting  treatment  of  a Avall-surface 
Avith  slight  panels  made  by  projecting  bricks  and  the  back  of  tlie  panels  laid  in 


HExnr  lion  sox  hichaiiijsox. 


ecinent-mortar  and  tiles  (i-oiind  green  tiles),  something  like  this.  | Sketch  inserted 
in  letter.]  The  whole  side  of  the  northeast  wall  is  covei*ed  with  it  and  borders 
very  delicately  made  with  green,  black,  and  yellow  tiles  all  delightfnlly  toned 
down  by  time.  . . . Monda}'  morning  we  left  Zaragoza  for  Madrid  at  seyen  A.  M. 
It  was  really  cold.  The  conductor  of  the  train  had  on  an  Irish  ulster — Spain  in 
August ! On  our  way  to  Madrid  we  had  some  yery  striking  scenery,  desolate,  hold, 
and  grand ; and  now  and  then  we  saw  some  ot‘  the  most  superb  peaches  and  great 
black  figs  growing  by  the  way.  A curious  yillage  — Saltillas— is  built  entirely 
under  ground,  and  all  we  saw  of  it  when  the  train  stoj)ped  were  the  chimneys 
coming  tln-ough  the  ground.  A most  dirt}',  forlorn  set  of  peoj)le  as  you  ever  im- 
agined. Yet  I saw  some  pretty  women.  . . . |At  Toledo]  the  cathedral  is  very 
noble  and  big,  and  some  other  very  interesting  churches  but  in  very  bad  condition. 
A good  bridge  and  guarded  by  the  old  Moorish  gate  — Puerto  del  Sol.  I saw 
there  more  Moorish  work  than  anywhere  else.  . . . JAt  Avila]  the  cathedral  is 
charming  — beautifully  studied,  and  ([idte  captivated  me.  There  are  many  things 
here  to  detain  one,  but  I liad  to  go  on,  and  saw  San  Yicente  and  the  Dominican 
convent  very  hurriedly.  Our  guide  got  us  into  the  Dominican  convent  by  lying 
to  the  monks  and  telling  them  w- e 'were  Catholics  — as  I learned  afterwards.  . . . 
]At  Salamanca]  we  Avent  out,  after  having  some  bad  coffee  and  goat’s  milk,  to  see 
the  cathedrals,  iicnv  and  old.  Such  a contrast  between  the  two  — the  one  small, 
old,  sini])le,  and  beautiful,  and  the  other  — the  contrary.  . . . The  drive  round 
the  fortified  wall,  with  its  round  turrets  noAv  and  then  and  picturesque  houses, 
Avas  very  interesting,  and  I got  a splendid  view  of  the  cathedral  Avhich  composes 
very  well  Avith  the  iieAV  from  the  other  side  of  the  river  Tonnes.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 


LAST  DAYS. PERSONAL  TRAITS. 

During  his  early  years  in  Europe  Richardson  had  had  neither  the  time  nor  the 
money  to  travel.  He  had  then  seen  only  northern  work  and  comparatively  little 
of  that.  As  he  was  fond  of  saying,  “ he  knew  his  Paris,”  but  he  really  knew  very 
little  else  except  on  paper.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  was  visiting  the  South  with 
which  his  artistic  nature  sympathized  far  more  deeply  than  with  the  North.  For 
the  first  time  he  was  seeing  how  men  of  like  disposition  with  himself  had  worked 
in  various  lands  and  times ; and  in  the  western  developments  of  Romanesque  art 
he  was  studying  forms  and  features  which,  as  revealed  in  books  and  jihotographs, 
had  already  been  embraced  as  his  materials  for  self-expression. 

Naturally  he  looked  at  them  with  an  interest  which  a layman  cannot  fathom 
and  which  an  architect  with  different  leanings  would  by  no  means  share  — with 
a love  and  an  intelligence  immeasurahly  heightened  by  past  experience  and  the 
prevision  of  future  need.  Many  problems  that  had  suggested  themselves  to  him 
as  new  had,  he  now  perceived,  been  long  ago  worked  out  by  others.  He  often 
spoke  of  the  singular  delight  it  was  to  see  “ how  those  old  fellows  had  done”  the 
things  he  had  been  trying  to  do  himself ; and  many  qualities  in  their  work  im- 
pressed him  far  more  forcibly  than  they  had  in  pictures  — qualities  of  simjilicity 
and  repose  in  general  treatment  as  well  as  of  exquisite  refinement  in  detail. 

This  actual  contact  with  southwestern  Romanesque  architecture  established 
still  more  firmly  his  belief  that  it  was  the  best  source  of  inspiration  for  the  mod- 
ern artist.  What  had  been  a strong  instinctive  feeling,  a passionately  held  and 
vigorously  practiced  faith,  now  became  an  assured  dogma  for  which  he  could  give 
much  clearer  reasons  ; and  the  special  lessons  he  had  learned  showed  at  once  in  his 
work  — not  only  in  his  jilans  for  the  Albany  cathedral  but  also  in  the  structures 
which  he  actually  built.  If  we  add  to  these  gains  the  immense  recuperation  of 
energy  and  access  of  delight  in  labor  which  sprang  from  his  long  unresting  rest, 
the  renewed  confidence  in  his  powers  and  opportunities  which  grew  from  a com- 
parison of  his  career  with  that  of  the  average  European  architect,  and  the  general 
broadening  and  freshening  of  his  mind  which  were  wrought  by  the  varied  scenes 
he  had  visited  and  the  interesting  persons  he  had  met  — if  we  add  these  other 
gains  it  will  not  seem  strange  that  this  journey  should  have  been  a second  turning- 
point  in  Richardson’s  artistic  life.  With  Trinity  Church  he  had  begun  to  do  liis 
true  work  ; now,  and  only  now,  he  was  ready  to  do  his  very  best  work.  Now, 
when  there  were  hut  four  years  of  life  in  store  for  him. 

For  some  time  after  his  return  his  health  seemed  better,  and  in  consequence  he 
thought  less  than  ever  about  it  and  labored  harder  than  before.  Serious  attacks 


36 


IIENPiY  HOBSON  FilCIIARJDSON 


of  illness  came  now  and  then,  hut  his  recoveries  were  rapid  and  his  strength 
seemed  nnimpaired.  In  the  aiitnmn  of  1885,  however,  he  was  so  ill  that  for  the 
moment  the  gravest  fears  were  felt,  and  when  he  was  better  again  both  journeys 
and  social  visits  u ere  forbidden.  lie  was  constrained  to  siihmit  hut  most  unwil- 
lingly, and  his  home  was  still  constantly  filled  with  guests  and  his  hands  were  still 
constantly  at  work. 

In  March,  1886,  he  had  a severe  attack  of  tonsilitis  followed  by  renewed  dan- 
ger from  his  chronic  disease.  His  desire  to  go  from  home  for  change  and  rest  was 
gratified,  and  though  in  New  York  he  was  so  seriously  ill  that  his  physician  was 
summoned  from  Boston,  he  rallied  quickly  and  was  allowed  to  go  on  to  Washing- 
ton “ as  an  invalid,”  under  strict  orders  against  both  friends  and  work.  But  an 
infringement  of  these  orders  brought  on  a second  relapse,  and  he  came  home  to  sit 
once  more  at  his  own  table  and  to  look  once  more  into  his  beloved  office.  When 
he  went  to  his  room  it  was  never  to  leave  it  again. 

The  two  weeks  which  passed  before  he  died  were  weeks  of  infinite  restlessness 
and  ])ain;  hut  he  never  complained  and  never  lost  his  spirits,  his  hopefulness,  or 
his  keen  interest  in  the  work  that  was  going  on  in  the  offices  below.  The  day  he 
died  he  talked  confidently  to  his  doctor  about  his  tasks  and  asi^irations,  and  declared 
once  more  that  what  he  wanted  was  “ to  live  two  years  to  see  the  Pittshurgli 
Court-house  and  the  Chicago  store  complete.”  These,  he  said,  were  the  works  he 
wished  to  he  judged  by,  adding,  with  that  frank  self-appreciation  the  very  frank- 
ness of  which  made  it  seem  unegotistic  : “If  they  honor  me  for  the  pigmy  things 
I have  already  done,  what  will  they  say  when  they  see  Pittsburgh  finished.” 

This  last  day  (April  27,  1886)  was  full  of  suffering,  but  his  actual  death  towards 
midnight  was  painless  and  peaceful.  In  its  presence  those  who  loved  him  most 
could  only  feel  it  was  better  thus  than  that  he  should  have  lived  on,  as  with  his 
disease  he  might,  through  many  months  of  suffering,  and  of  that  enforced  inac- 
tion which  would  have  been  still  keener  pain.  Some  of  his  absent  friends  had 
known  the  exceptional  gravity  of  this  last  attack,  hut  so  strong  was  still  their  feel- 
ing that  “ Bichardson  would  never  take  time  to  die,”  that  even  to  them  the  an- 
nouncement of  the  actual  loosening  of  his  imperious  grasp  on  life  came  with  as 
sudden  a shock  as  though  no  warning  had  heeu  given. 

His  funeral  took  place  from  Trinity  Church,  and  the  service  was  read  by  his 
close  friend.  Dr.  Brooks.  The  respect  and  honor  then  expressed  in  private  and  in 
professional  ways  marked  his  2)assing  as  that  of  a man  whose  life  had  been  of 
exceptional  public  value ; and  a similar  feeling  spoke  from  his  fellow-countrymen 
at  large  through  the  pages  of  the  general  as  well  as  the  professional  j^ress.  The 
death  of  no  American  artist  had  ever  before  been  noted  so  widely,  or  with  such 
clear  recognition  of  its  moment  as  a national  misfortune.  Bichardson  had  so 
impressed  himself  upon  so  many  minds  in  so  many  places  that  his  loss  — the  loss 
of  one  who  was  a great  architect  and  nothing  else  — was  chronicled  as  that  of  a 
notable  j^uhlic  character.  Such  a fact  does  not  seem  surprising  if  the  matter  is 
abstractly  weighed.  But  as  things  had  been  in  our  country  it  was  surprising 
enough  to  mark  the  dawn  of  a new  day  for  art.  It  was  an  unexpected  and  thrice- 
welcome  expression  of  that  development  of  public  interest  in  art  which  was  the 
most  important  and  happy  result  of  his  influential  life. 


LAST  DAYS.  — PERSONAL  TRAITS. 


37 


111  1866  Richardson  had  become  a Fellow  of  the  American  Institute  of  Archi- 
tects, in  1879  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  and  in  1881  of  the 
Archgeological  Institute  of  America.  Only  two  or  three  weeks  before  his  death 
he  received  news  of  his  election  as  Honorary  and  Corrresjionding  Member  of  the 
Royal  Institute  of  British  Architects. 

If  now  a few  more  pages  are  given  to  his  personal  characteristics  before  the 
characteristics  of  his  art  are  discussed,  it  is  because  an  unusually  intimate  union 
existed  between  them.  “ The  man  and  the  work  are  absolutely  one.  The  man 
is  in  the  work  and  the  work  is  in  the  man.”  ^ And,  moreover,  the  outside  work 
he  did  in  addition  to  the  actual  creation  of  his  buildings  was  quite  as  important  as 
this  and  cannot  in  the  least  be  understood  unless  one  knows  what  manner  of  man 
he  was. 

No  one  could  speak  with  him  half  an  hour  without  perceiving  that  he  had  all 
the  qualities  which  mark  the  born  artist  — ideality,  fervid  enthusiasm,  keen  percep- 
tive powers,  quickness  of  intuition,  extreme  susceptibility,  and  a passionate  desire 
to  express  himself  in  creative  action.  Yet  no  one  could  know  him  at  all  well 
without  seeing  that  there  was  a very  marked  practical  side  to  his  endowment  too. 
Ideality  he  had  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word  — imaginative  jDower  and  inborn 
aesthetic  feeling ; but  he  was  no  “ idealist  ” as  the  term  is  used  in  current  artistic 
pirlance.  There  was  nothing  spiritual  about  him.  His  nature  was  robust, 
intensely  human ; in  the  better  meaning  of  the  word,  material.  His  intuition  in 
art  might  carry  him  along  so  swiftly  that  for  the  moment  he  could  give  little  dis- 
tinct account  of  his  reasons  for  moving  as  he  did ; but  they  were  as  keen  for  the 
practical  difficulties  as  for  the  abstract  possibilities  before  him.  Nowhere  did  his 
immense  vitality  show  more  clearly  than  in  the  strength  of  his  imagination. 
Hopeful  by  nature,  his  imagination  always  seemed  to  give  his  hopes  firm  basis,  and 
if  disappointment  came  its  effects  were  brief,  for  new  and  equally  alluring  pros- 
pects immediately  opened  to  his  eye.  Yet  even  in  his  most  imaginative  moods  he 
was  neither  vague,  wild,  nor  utopian  of  idea.  There  was  none  of  “ the  insanity 
of  genius  ” about  him.  His  fancy  might  take  flights  which  to  other  minds  seemed 
very  bold,  but  it  never  led  him  into  the  cloud-land  of  the  wholly  unattainable. 
No  one  better  knew  the  limits  of  the  possible,  only,  being  conscious  of  a greater 
jDower  to  work  his  will  than  most  men  can  lay  claim  to,  he  set  these  limits  farther 
off  than  most  men  dare ; and  his  imagination  made  the  possible  seem  probable,  or 
even  for  the  moment  actually  certain.  (It  is  of  his  schemes  and  ideas  in  art  that 
I am  speaking  now  ; — in  his  private  affairs  his  imagination  often  ran  away  with 
his  judgment,  and  he  suffered  the  results  in  burdens  and  annoyances  of  man}' 
kinds.)  No  man  ever  loved  art  more  sincerely,  enjoyed  it  more  j^assionately,  or 
respected  it  more  profoundly.  But  practical  things  appealed  to  him  so  strongly 
that  one  could  not  imagine  him  loving  any  other  art  half  so  well  as  the  one  he 
followed.  I have  already  spoken  of  his  keen  feeling  for  the  material  serviceable- 
ness of  an  architect’s  work,  and  this  feeling  had  almost  as  great  a share 
in  his  respect  and  enthusiasm  for  that  work  as  his  passionate  belief  in  its  ])os- 
sibilities  of  beauty.  To  any  eye  he  was  the  born  artist ; but  to  the  e}  e that 

* Rev.  IMiilli])s  Brooks,  Harvard  Monthly,  October,  1886. 


38 


IIENBY  HOBSON  lUCHAlUJSON. 


knew  him  he  avus  the  artist  horn  to  express  himself  in  architectural  language 
only. 

This  mingling  of  practical  Avith  iniaginatiA'e  and  emotional  cpialities  gaA  e him  a 
strong  sense  of  humor  — a sense  Avhich  })reserA'ed  him  from  those  fantasies,  affec- 
tations, and  sentimental  absurdities  into  Avhich  the  purely  [esthetic  temperament 
often  falls.  A good  story,  a laughable  incident,  an  expression  Avhere  enthusiasm 
savored  of  bathos  or  Avhich  tAvisted  truth  to  folly,  Avas  eagerly  enjoyed  even  at  his 
own  expense  — though  never,  it  should  be  said,  if  at  the  expense  of  the  dignity 
or  the  sacredness  of  art.  Far  from  being  embarrjissed,  he  Avas  greatly  entertained 
bv  the  notice  his  unusual  size  often  attracted.  Tie  Avould  tell  Avith  glee  of  certain 
(lavs  in  Euro])e  Avhen  the  remarkable  height  of  tAVO  of  his  companions  and  his  OAvn 
rotundity  had  excited  an  uncomfortable  amount  of  popular  attention  — especially 
of  one  day  Avhen  the  street-boys  asked  “ if  the  dAvarfs  Avere  not  coming  too.”  He 
laughed  like  a Homeric  hero  Avhen  told  of  a German  admirer  of  his  Avorks  who 
as  their  architect  was  ])ointed  out  to  him  exclaimed,  “ Mein  Gott,  hoAv  he  looks 
like  his  own  buildings,”  declaring  that  [ifter  all  “ it  Avas  a great  thing  to  be 
monumental.”  And  he  took  a Avhimsical,  or  <is  he  Avould  vigorously  protest,  an 
artistic  delight  in  having  all  his  surroundings  and  belongings  of  corresponding  size. 
Even  his  liandAvriting  greAv  in  size  during  his  later  years,  and  a letter  from  him 
Avith  its  large  pa])er,  huge  Idack  script,  and  enormous  seal,  Avas  as  characteristic  as 
ii  glimpse  of  the  man  himself. 

He  bore  his  unusual  bulk  Avith  so  much  case  and  dignity  that  one  never  thought 
of  speaking  of  it  :is  one  might  in  other  crises,  llichardson  Avas  “ big  ” — that  was 
all,  and  his  bigness  seemed  appropriate  to  the  general  breadth  and  vigor  of  his 
temper,  his  manner,  his  ideas,  itnd  his  creations.  “ He  was  large  in  everything  — 
large  in  conception,  large  in  soul,  large  in  body.  His  presence  filled  the  mind  as 
it  did  tlie  eye.”  ‘ His  face,  moreover,  had  not  changed  so  greatly  as  his  figure, 
{ind  had  not  lost  the  refinement  Avhich  marked  it  in  early  life.  It  was  a strong 
face  and  full  of  possibilities  of  passion,  yet  a very  genial  one  and  made  singularly 
Avinning  l)y  the  humor  of  his  glance  iind  the  quick  brilliancy  of  his  smile. 


Self-reliance  resulting  in  great  impatience  under  (iny  species  of  control,  and  self- 
will  pushed  at  times  beyond  the  edge  of  self-assertion,  were  also  very  strongly- 
marked  traits  Avith  llichardson.  Naturally,  to  some  men  they  sometimes  gave 
offense  ; but  to  all  avIio  Averc  themselves  manly  and  spirited  as  Avell  as  generous 
they  seemed  among  his  most  attriictive  cpialities.  If  he  was  Avholly  free  from  one 
fciult  that  fault  Avas  affectation  ; and  it  is  only  affectation  which,  Avhen  self-reliance 
and  self-approval  have  any  justification  in  fact,  makes  their  expression  censurable.^ 
“ Insist  on  yourself”  is  Emerson’s  teaching,  as  also  that  “ a man  is  to  carry  himself 
in  the  presence  of  all  opposition  as  if  everything  were  titular  and  ephemeral  but 
he.”  And  it  Avas  a perpetual  tonic  to  see  one  man  Avhose  inborn  convictions  gave 


^ Charles  Francis  Adams,  Jr.,  in  the  Cambridge  address 
already  cited. 

^ “ He  was  as  entirely  free  from  alfectation  as  is  Sever 
Hall.  He  was  too  large  to  be  jealous  of  other  men.  ‘ I 
never  saw  it,’  he  persisted  in  saying  about  a big  bad  house 
of  a brother  architect  which  he  passed  every  week  in  his 


life.  He  took  people  into  the  confidence  of  his  ideas  with 
his  hearty  and  capacious  ‘ don’t  you  know  ? ’ He  talked 
of  himself  and  his  work  so  largely  that  he  was  not  egotis- 
tical.” — Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  Harvard  Monthly.,  Oc- 
tober, 1886. 


LAS 7'  DAYS.  — FEESONAL  TRAITS. 


39 


him  this  same  teaching  and  who  frankly  and  sturdily  put  it  into  practice  ; one 
man  who  knew  his  own  value  and  was  neither  afraid  nor  ashamed  to  show  he  did, 
and  who  clearly  conceived  his  own  aims  and  believed  in  them  so  thoroughly  that 
not  to  have  tried  his  best  to  realize  them  would  have  seemed  to  him  a treason  to 
his  art  as  well  as  to  himself.  Ivichardson’s  exuberant  frankness  and  fearless  self- 
trust  refreshed  one  like  a breath  from  some  primeval  clime.  Perhai:)S  there  was 
about  him  a touch  of  “ the  barbaric  ” — it  has  often  been  said  of  his  work  at  least. 
But  if  so,  it  was  such  a touch  as  we  associate  with  the  confident  attitude  and  the 
naif  self-absorj^tion  of  childhood,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  dullness  of  feeling. 
If  he  sometimes  seemed  too  bold,  too  imperious,  and  not  self-sacrificing  enough,  it 
was  because  he  was  more  sure  and  eager,  not  because  he  was  more  hard  than  oth- 
ers ; and  in  asserting  himself  as  an  artist,  in  claiming  what  he  believed  to  be  his 
rights  and  privileges  and  opportunities,  he  seemed  so  broad,  so  large,  as  well  as 
frank,  that  he  impressed  one  as  making  the  claim  for  men  of  brains  and  men  at 
work  in  general,  and  not  solely  and  selfishly  for  himself.  In  his  presence  as  in 
the  presence  of  his  works,  one  was  often  struck  by  the  thought  that,  after  all,  the 
best  manner  to  oj)en  a way  for  others  is  to  make  a wide  path  for  one’s  own  feet  ; 
that  the  best  service  a man  can  do  his  fellow- workers  is  to  secure  the  noblest 
opportunities  for  himself,  use  them  in  the  noblest  way,  and  thus  establish  prece- 
dents which  Avill  be  of  j)erpetual  profit. 

Richardson  was  no  philosopher  and  very  little  of  a theorist  in  any  direction. 
Yet  he  would  often  argue  vigorously  upon  some  such  text  as  this,  defending  his 
independent,  self-asserting  course  as  that  which  all  men  — of  brains,  he  meant  — 
should  follow.  No  man  can  do  his  best,  he  would  say,  unless  he  does  believe  in 
and  assert  himself ; and  what  is  he  put  into  the  world  for  if  not  to  do  his  best  ? 
No  man  can  do  good  work  at  all  if  he  permits  himself  to  be  cramped  and  bound 
by  the  ideas  and  demands  of  others  ; if,  in  a favorite  })hrase,  “ he  is  perpetually 
thwarted.”  From  this  standpoint  he  would  defend  the  former  conditions  of  life 
in  the  South  and  the  institution  of  slavery  as  well  calculated  to  enable  a man  to 
express  his  nature  fully,  to  “ develop  his  own  individuality.”  Of  course  he  knew 
— though  the  knowledge  did  not  interfere  with  his  theoretic  expositions  — that 
no  man,  and  certainly  no  architect,  can  fully  put  such  a creed  into  j^ractice,  and 
that  it  would  not  be  well  for  themselves  or  others  if  many  should  try.  Yet  he 
himself  managed  to  live  by  it  to  a much  greater  extent  than  is  often  possible,  and 
the  spectacle  was  refreshing  to  all  who  could  generously  appreciate,  first,  the 
results  he  was  able  to  accomplish,  and,  secondly,  his  own  delight  in  their  accom- 
jilishment.  To  those  who  really  knew  him  for  what  he  was  it  would  have  seemed 
a pity  and  misfortune  indeed  had  Richardson  been  unsuccessful,  and  an  impossi- 
bility that  he  should  have  been  snccessfxd  if  so  cramped,  fettered,  and  “ thwarted  ” 
as  most  of  us  must,  and  rightly  should,  content  ourselves  with  being.  One  never 
quite  judged  him  as  one  judges  average  men.  A child  of  genius,  it  seemed  but 
right  that  he  should  be  the  spoiled  child  of  circumstance  and  friendship  too. 

Few  men  can  ever  have  got  as  much  from  their  friends  in  the  shape  of  afi’ec- 
tion,  of  sympathy,  of  encouragement,  and  of  practical  aid.  But  he  gave  much  in 
return,  and  even  had  he  given  less  they  would  liave  felt  rewarded  in  advance  by 
the  childlike  confidence  with  which  he  looked  for  love  and  lielj).  As  a man 


40 


HEX  BY  HOBSON  BICHABHSOX. 


regards  a debt  of  honor  more  sernpidoiisly  than  an  ordinary  business  obligation,  so 
Richardson’s  friends  felt  that  his  immense  trust  in  their  deyotion  could  only  be 
met  with  generosity.  What  he  gaye  in  return  may  be  best  explained  in  the  words 
of  one  among  them,  also  a distingidshed  artist,  thongh  in  another  branch  than 
Richardson’s  ; — 

“ I cannot  ex])ress,  or  make  those  who  did  not  know  him  eyen  dimly  under- 
stand, how  much  Richardson  Avas  in  one’s  life,  hoAy  much  help  and  comfort  he  gaye 
one  in  its  work.  It  Avas  not  ahvays  that  he  could  do  much,  but  he  would  do  Ayhat 
he  could  AA'hen  other  men  a\  oidd  only  haye  talked  about  it.  And  Avhen  he  could 
not  do  anything  he  Ayould  yet  take  such  an  eager,  unselfish,  and  really  yital  inter- 
est in  one’s  aims  and  schemes,  try  so  seriously  to  understand  one’s  difficulties,  and 
declare  so  imperiously  that  they  must  and  should  be  oyercome,  be  so  intensely  and 
intelligently  sympathetic,  giye,  in  short,  so  much  of  himself,  that  he  aauis  the  great- 
est comfort  and  the  most  potent  stimulus  that  has  ever  come  into  my  artistic  life.” 

Eyen  Avhen  one’s  ac([uaintancc  hardly  justified  the  use  of  the  word  friendship 
the  same  effect  Avas  ])roduced.  He  seemed  at  once  so  to  gras])  suggestions  and 
ideas  that  they  Avere  clarified  and  illumined  eyen  for  the  spe:dver,  and  immediately 
to  feel  an  interest  Ayliich  Ayith  others,  if  it  came  at  all,  Ayould  come  by  sloAy  and 
gradual  steps.  And  no  matter  how  long  an  interyal  jAassed  betAveen  one  meeting 
and  another,  he  Ayas  sure  to  be  the  same  again,  and  one’s  intercourse  could  be 
taken  up  just  Ayhere  it  had  dropped,  Avith  none  of  that  sense  of  change,  loss,  and 
Avaste  Avliich  lapse  of  time  and  diyersity  of  occupation  so  often  bring.  Eyen  dAvell- 
ing  at  a distance  and  seeing  him  but  seldom,  Richardson  seemed  a part  of  one’s 
existence  and  not  merely  a casual  feature  noAy  and  again  to  reappear  ; and  Avhen 
he  died  his  furthest  friends  missed  him  as  thoimh  he  had  liyed  next  door.  “ The 
change  Ayhich  his  death  brought  to  his  friends  it  is  not  possible  to  describe.  It  is 
a change  in  all  their  life.  When  some  men  die  it  is  as  if  you  had  lost  your  pen- 
knife and  Avere  subject  to  perpetual  inconyenience  until  you  could  get  another. 
Other  men’s  going  is  like  the  yanishing  of  a great  mountain  from  the  landscape 
and  the  outlook  of  life  is  changed  foreyer.  His  life  was  like  a great  picture  full 
of  gloAying  color.  The  canyas  on  Avhich  it  Ayas  painted  Avas  immense.  It  lighted 
all  the  room  in  Avhich  it  hung.  It  Ayarmed  the  chilliest  air.  It  made  and  Ayill 
long  make  life  broader,  Ayork  easier,  and  simple  strength  and  courage  dearer  to 
many  men.”  ^ 

The  impression  made  by  his  personality  needed  no  heljA  from  any  jAreyious 
knoAyledge  of  his  Avork  ; — unidentified,  he  Avould  just  as  surely  haye  been  noticed 
as  a remarkable  man.  He  Ayas  at  once  more  interesting  than  any  of  his  creations. 
There  Avere  greater  things  in  him  than  any  he  did,  and  the  fact  shoAved  at  first 
sight  and  grcAy  but  the  more  apparent  the  better  one  knew  him.  And  charm  Avas 
as  conspicuous  as  poAver  in  his  bearing  and  address  — Avas  so  cons2Aicuous  that  the 
usual  processes  of  feeling  Ay  ere  often  reversed  with  regard  to  him.  Affection  Avas 
the  first  sentiment  to  be  born,  and  others  folloAved  if  opjAortunity  Avas  gracious. 

It  is  not  easy  to  j)icture  any  congregation  of  men  in  which  he  Avould  not  have 
been  the  central  figure.  His  great  size  marked  him  out  no  more  than  did  his 
hearty,  cordial  manner,  his  fluent  though  slightly  stammering  speech,  his  eager 

^ Rev.  Pliillips  Brooks,  Harvard  Monthly,  October,  1886. 


LAST  DAYS.  — PERSONAL  TRAITS. 


41 


gestures,  his  jovial  humor,  and  his  brilliant  smile  ; and  so  great  was  the  simplicity 
of  his  social  attitude  — so  childlike  his  confidence  that  his  j^resence  was  welcome 
and  his  words  were  valued,  so  outsi^oken  his  reciprocal  interest  and  pleasure,  and 
so  jDathetic  his  brave  bearing  of  his  physical  disabilities  — that  no  one  thought  of 
questioning  his  right  to  be  honored  and  considered  first.  Affectation,  — posing, — 
as  already  said,  was  wholly  alien  to  his  nature.  No  trace  of  the  “social  lion” 
ever  crept  into  his  manner  and  no  tinge  of  lion-worship  into  that  of  his  associates. 
Genuine,  unaffected  love  and  admiration  were  what  he  craved  with  peculiar  long- 
ing and  what  he  received  in  peculiarly  lavish  measure.  The  same  word  con- 
stantly comes  to  mind  : great  man  though  he  was  and  polished  man  of  the  world 
as  well,  there  was  always  something  of  the  child  about  him ; and  by  this  is  im- 
plied, of  course,  that  there  was  simple  dignity  as  well  as  frankness  in  his  attitude 
towards  others.  His  enthusiasm  of  manner  and  abundance  of  s]:)cech  never  de- 
generated into  familiarity  or  hoisterousness.  In  any  circle  he  would  always 
have  seemed  one  of  the  best-bred  though  one  of  the  least  stiffly  conventional  of 
men.  Indeed,  his  manners  were  as  noteworthy  as  any  point  about  him.  They 
were  at  the  same  time  more  cordial  and  more  courtly  than  those  of  the  aver- 
age American,  yet  they  seemed  a part  of  himself  and  not  a veneer.  They  were 
always  the  same  and  always  right,  no  matter  with  whom  he  spoke.  Some  one 
once  remarked  that  “ if  the  Queen  of  Sheba  were  to  come  into  Richardson’s 
office  he  would  give  her  but  his  usual  hearty  handshake,  bright  smile,  and  friendly 
word  of  welcome.”  But  even  a Queen  of  Sheba  could  not  have  wished  for  any- 
thing else  — there  was  so  dignified  a manliness  in  his  warmth  of  manner,  so  cour- 
teous a respect  in  his  informality. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HEREDITARY  INFLUENCES. 

Such  a character,  tcmjieramcnt,  and  manner  as  the  foregoing  pages  suggest  we 
instinctively  call  “ southern  ; ” and  Richardson’s  jicrsonal  apiiearance  agreed  so 
entirely  with  their  eyidence  that  one  \yas  apt  to  think  of  him  as  in  no  way  akin 
to  the  men  among  whom  his  later  years  were  jiassed.  Rut,  as  we  haye  seen,  no 
New  Englander  of  them  all  had  in  his  veins  more  undiluted  northern,  more 
purely  Rritish  blood.  Ilis  own  birth  and  his  mother’s,  and  the  long  residence  of 
his  father’s  family  in  an  almost  tropical  island,  justify  his  own  constant  claim  that 
in  fact  and  being  he  was  a true  son  of  the  south.  Rut  the  north  begot  him ; 
and  it  is  from  a union  of  just  this  kind  that,  alike  in  nations  and  indiyidnals,  the 
highest  artistic  powers  have  often  sprung. 

Nowhere  do  its  good  results  show  more  clearly  than  in  the  history  of  architec- 
ture— that  coni])lex  art  which  needs  for  its  best  exercise  the  blending  of  so  many 
different  gifts.  I need  only  cite  in  illustration  the  architecture  of  the  antique 
A\'orld,  culminating  on  that  soil  of  Greece  where  a new  and  more  northern  race 
dealt  with  the  transmitted  forms  of  Egypt  and  Assyria,  and  the  architecture  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  reaching  its  most  complete  development  in  those  districts  around 
the  cajiital  of  France  where  “ northern  energy  and  southern  grace  ” met  and 
agreed  together. 

Looking  back  at  any  period  so  far  away  as  these,  it  almost  seems  as  though  the 
people  as  a whole  had  shaped  the  course  of  its  constructive  art  and  no  individual 
artist  had  been  very  potent,  while  to-day  it  seems  as  though  individuals  were  all 
in  all  and  the  nations  nothing.  In  truth  there  must  have  been,  alike  in  classic 
and  in  mediseval  days,  a more  general  artistic  endowment  than  the  modern  world 
can  boast,  and  a more  comjilete  unity  in  taste  and  feeling.  Yet  we  may  be  sure 
that  the  disparity  is  not  quite  so  great  as  at  first  sight  it  seems.  It  is  only  the 
lack  of  detailed  records  which  conceals  the  constant  presence  in  all  earlier  years  of 
inspiring,  directing,  controlling  personalities,  while  the  conspicuous  personalities  of 
to-day  will  surely  seem  less  isolated  when  time’s  perspective  shall  have  set  them 
further  off.  It  can  hardly  be  questioned,  for  example,  that  Richardson,  despite 
his  marked  originality,  despite  the  unexpectedness  of  his  results  and  the  intensely 
personal  voice  which  seems  to  speak  from  them,  did  but  express,  more  truth- 
fully than  we  at  first  coidd  think,  certain  ideas  and  tastes  and  feelings  that  were 
latent  all  about  him.  Rut  however  these  things  may  be,  it  is  in  any  case  interest- 
ing to  note  that  the  union  of  northern  and  southern  influences  by  which  Richard- 
son was  moulded  is  just  the  union  which  we  might  expect  to  mould  - a great 
architect ; and  it  is  encouraging  to  remember  that  by  virtue  of  this  union  he 
was  the  more  and  not  the  less  characteristically  an  American. 


HEREDITARY  I NFL  UENCES. 


43 


When,  however,  we  are  studying  any  man  of  marked  ability,  — and  especially 
any  man  whose  ability  rises  so  high  as  to  pass  the  line  where  talent  ends  and  ge- 
nius begins,  — special  as  well  as  general  questions  of  descent  become  of  interest. 
We  like  to  ask  not  only  of  his  race  but  of  his  family,  and  we  are  pleased  when,  as 
is  the  case  with  Richardson,  family  records  remain  and  speak  with  a voice  which 
confirms  belief  in  the  “ doctrine  of  heredity.” 

We  have  seen  that  his  blood  was  on  both  sides  of  excellent  quality  ; for  al- 
though his  father’s  ancestors  were  never  so  conspicuously  before  the  world  as  some 
of  the  Priestleys,  they  held  an  honorable  place  among  the  most  respected  citizens 
of  Bermuda.  Of  his  father  we  are  told  that  “ even  as  a school-boy  his  persever- 
ance was  such  that  he  never  failed  to  succeed  in  any  branch  he  undertook ; ” and 
that  as  a man  he  was  distinguished  by  all  the  qualities  which  make  one  beloved 
by  his  friends  and  honored  by  his  fellow-citizens.  But  we  learn  of  no  especial 
gifts  which  he  or  any  Richardson  transmitted  to  the  architect  except  ability  in 
mathematics.  It  is  to  the  Priestleys,  and  above  all  to  the  famous  doctor,  that  we 
must  turn  for  signs  of  close  intellectual  and  emotional  likeness.  No  two  men 
could  have  differed  more  widely  in  the  use  they  made  of  their  powers  ; yet  in 
natural  endowment  Richardson  and  his  great-grandfather  must  have  been  near  akin. 

Priestley’s  activity  was  so  very  varied  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  class  him. 
He  was  philosopher,  theologian,  politician,  chemist,  electrician,  grammarian,  and 
a dozen  things  besides.  The  most  exact  description  one  can  give  is  that  he  jjassed 
his  life  in  observing  and  in  formulating,  and  that  he  brought  these  processes  to 
bear  now  upon  the  soul  of  man  and  now  upon  the  phenomena  of  the  material 
world.  Richardson  was  an  architect  and  an  architect  only.  His  concentration 
was  as  marked  as  was  Priestley’s  versatility.  Yet  he  too  had  a richness  of  endow- 
ment that  might  easily  have  been  turned  to  varied  ends.  His  mind,  as  has  been 
said,  was  very  active,  his  intuitions  were  very  quick  and  keen,  his  sympathies  in  a 
hundred  things  that  lay  well  outside  the  field  of  architecture  were  easily  aroused 
and  for  the  moment  very  warni.^  But  the  uncertainty  of  life  was  early  brought 
home  to  him  with  peculiar  force,  his  profession  was  of  a peculiarly  exacting  kind, 
and  all  his  practical  energies  were  confined  within  its  single  channel.  And  very 
fortunately.  His  concentration  meant  that  he  did  his  best  in  the  single  branch 
he  chose ; — not,  perhaps,  the  absolute  best  that  was  in  him,  but  the  very  best 
that  each  passing  year  of  his  short  life  permitted.  On  the  other  hand,  long  and 
strenuous  as  was  Dr.  Priestley’s  life,  its  results  would  have  been  of  nobler  quality 
had  their  quantity  — or  at  all  events  their  variety  — been  less.  One  need  not 
credit  or  even  consider  all  the  special  faults  which  contemporary  adversaries  noted 
in  his  work.  It  needs  no  examination  to  tell  that,  no  matter  hoAv  great  his  abili- 
ties, how  intense  his  energy,  a man  who  writes  a hundred  and  forty-one  books  on 
almost  half  a hundred  subjects  needing  serious  study  and  prolonged  expei  iment, 
cannot  always  have  written  carefully  or  wisely,  and  cannot  have  done  his  very  best 
in  any  single  branch. 

* “ He  had  quick  sympatliies  with  suhjects  of  wliich  he  largely  an  affair  of  chance,  and  that  somewhere,  some  time, 
knew  nothing.  He  gave  one  as  much  reason  to  helieve  all  faculties  in  all  men  will  come  forth  into  activity.” 

as  almost  any  one  I ever  knew  that  there  is  truth  in  the  — Rev.  I^hillips  Brooks,  in  Harvard  Monthhj,  October, 

happy  theory  that  all  men  have  all  faculties,  and  what  fac-  1<S<SG. 
ulties  find  their  way  out  to  activity  in  this  hit  of  a life  is 


44 


HENRY  I ion  SON  lUCHAlWSON 


But  apart  from  this  difference  in  its  direction,  both  men  did  their  work  in  the 
same  spirit.  Indomitable  energy  was  theirs  by  birthright  — ceaseless  industry, 
tireless  perseverance,  intense  devotion  to  the  task  in  hand.  Both  were  workers 
for  the  sidve  of  work ; iMbor  ipse  roluptas  might  have  served  as  a motto  for  the' 
one  as  trnthfnlly  as  for  the  other.  Each  met  witli  difficulties  which  might  well 
have  daunted  him  ; but  neither  was  daunted  or  turned  from  his  path,  or  lost  his 
childlike  deli<>ht  in  lile  or  in  the  success  of  his  labors.  And  there  is  a singular 
analogy  between  Richardson’s  last  days  and  those  of  Priestley  when,  as  his  son 
relates,  he  told  his  doctor,  “ that  if  he  covdd  but  patch  him  up  for  six  months 
longer  he  slioidd  be  perfectly  satisfied,  as  he  should  in  that  time  be  able  to  com- 
plete printing  his  works.” 

Ih’iestley  says  in  his  autobiogra])hy  that  he  had  “ an  even  chearfulness  of 
temper  ” which  “ rarely  deserted  him  even  for  an  hour,”  and  which  he  had  inher- 
ited from  his  father,  who  “ had  uniformly  better  spirits  ” than  any  man  he  ever 
knew.  This  good  gift  he  in  his  turn  transmitted.  Constitutional  high  spirits 
rather  than  an  “ even  chearfulness  of  temper  ” is  the  phrase  which  best  fits  Rich- 
ardson. But  this  only  seems  to  make  the  likeness  closer,  for  undoubtedly  the 
stronger  words  would  have  better  fitted  Dr.  Priestley  too.  AVhen  he  paints  his 
own  portrait  it  looks  mild  and  ecpiable  and  cool  enough,  but  his  contemporaries 
give  it  much  more  pronounced  and  fervid  traits.  Again,  we  need  not  believe  them 
Avholly,  and  we  may  make  some  deductions  from  the  words  of  the  later  writer 
who  remarks  upon  that  “ indefatigable  activity,  that  bigoted  vanity,  that  precipi- 
tation, cheerfulness,  and  sincerity  which  made  u]^  the  character  of  this  restless 
philosopher.”^  No  man  who  was  bigotedly  vain  would  have  been  so  quick  to 
retract  his  words  when  second  thoughts  had  shown  him  a mistake.  Yet  he  cer- 
tainly never  paused  for  second  thoughts  before  rushing  into  print ; his  confi- 
dence in  himself  was  unbounded  and  his  impetuosity  as  great.  Had  his  temper 
been  very  “ even  ” he  would  have  led  a quieter  intellectual  life,  and  something 
more  than  mere  “ chearfulness  ” must  have  sustained  him  in  the  perjietual  un- 
quiet that  he  sought.  There  is  every  sign  -of  a temperament  quite  like  his  great- 
grandson’s,  brought  to  even  more  pronounced  develojiinent  by  the  nature  of  his 
work.  AYords  were  his  materials  for  self-expression,  arguments  his  tools,  while 
Richardson’s  language  was  of  bricks  and  stones  which  give  opjoortunity  to  declare 
and  preach  but  no  chance  to  argue,  and  which  inculcate  deliberate  methods  and 
the  foreseeing  of  unalterable  results.  Yet  even  in  Richardson’s  buildings  it  is 
easy  to  read  the  enthusiasm,  the  impulsiveness,  the  self-trust  which  he  had  inher- 
ited, and  his  speech  and  manner  still  more  distinctly  showed  them. 

Intellectual  independence  Avas  also  a trait  Avhich  these  kinsmen  had  in  common. 
Neither  ever  accepted  current  beliefs  because  of  their  mere  currency,  or  feared  to 
express  his  own  lest  they  be  deemed  unorthodox.”  Southey  calls  the  Doctor  “ a 
man  Avho  sj)eaks  all  he  thinks ; ” ^ another  pen  declares  that  “ frankness  and  dis- 
interestedness in  the  avowal  of  his  opinions  was  his  point  of  honor  ; ” ^ and  the 
phrases  may  here  stand  Avith  a double  application.  It  matters  nothing  that  Priest- 
ley spoke  Avith  definite  Avords  and  Richardson  through  the  abstracter  language  of 

^ Lord  Jeffrey,  Edinburgh  Review,  October,  1806.  ^ Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Life,  i.  ch.  vii. 

^ Life  and  Correspondence,  ch.  v. 


HEREDITARY  INFLUENCES. 


45 


an  art.  Just  the  same  spirit  that  giiicled  the  theological  and  scientific  writings  of 
the  one  inspired  the  artistic  practice  of  the  other.  Everything  was  examined  at 
first  hand,  tried  in  the  balance  of  personal  thought  and  feeling ; and  whatever 
was  then  believed  was  proclaimed  without  deference  to  any  “ doxy.”  Indeed,  the 
bias  with  Richardson  as  with  Priestley  was  towards  the  new  and  unfamiliar  for 
the  sake  of  its  freshness,  not  towards  the  old  and  honored  for  the  sake  of  its 
accepted  title ; and  towards  undue  haste  and  over-emphasis  in  expression  rather 
than  towards  a cautious  reticence.  Each  of  them,  in  short,  was  an  originator,  a 
leader  in  his  own  path ; and  this  means  that  both  were  born  to  be  independent, 
“ heterodox,”  and  combative,  but  means,  too,  that  both  were  constructive  and 
not  destructive  by  nature. 

Of  course,  with  regard  to  Richardson,  this  fiict  is  very  clear,  — the  mere  name 
“ artist  ” is  the  proof.  But  if  Priestley’s  story  be  fully  read  it  is  as  clearly  proved 
for  him.  Like  his  descendant  he  was  an  idealist,  — a man  with  ideals  in  which 
he  passionately  believed,  and  to  which  he  desired  to  give  concrete  existence. 
And  if  he  was  an  iconoclast,  it  was  because  certain  things  stood  in  the  way  of 
those  he  wanted  to  establish, — not,  in  religion  or  in  politics  anymore  than  in 
science,  an  iconoclast  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  destroying. 

If  it  seems  strange  that  two  men  so  unlike  in  their  vocations  should  have  been 
so  alike  in  nature,  the  explanation  is  that  one  of  them  was  not  by  nature  really 
fitted  for  the  part  he  chose  to  play.  Your  true  philosopher  is  not  quick  but  slow 
and  very  patient,  is  not  confident  but  cautious,  is  never  emotional,  rash,  or  hot, 
loves  contemplation  more  than  action,  cares  far  more  for  knowing  than  for  doing. 
It  is  the  man  of  artistic  nature  who  longs  to  be  creative,  who  can  hardly  pause  to 
know,  so  great  is  his  desire  to  do,  who  passes  lightly  by  the  thoughts  of  others  in 
his  impulse  towards  self-expression.  And  it  is  he,  too,  whose  mind  is  “ objective  ” 
— loves  concrete  things,  demonstrable  facts,  and  definite  decisions.  The  philos- 
opher’s mind  is  content  with  vagueness,  shuns  cut-and-dried  definings,  sees  the 
highest  virtue  often  in  “ susj)ended  judgments,”  and  disports  itself  by  choice  in 
cloud-land.  Read  now  what  a historian  says  of  our  philosopher  : — 

“ Priestley’s  mind  was  objective  to  an  extreme ; he  could  fix  his  faith  upon 
nothing  which  had  not  the  indorsement  of  sense  in  some  way  impressed  iqDon  it. 
. . . The  most  spiritual  ideas  were  obliged  to  be  cast  in  a material  mould  before 
they  could  commend  themselves  to  his  judgment  or  conscience.  His  instinct  was 
rapid  to  a degree.  lie  saw  the  bearings  of  a question  according  to  his  own  j^riii- 
ciplcs  at  a glance  and  embodied  his  thoughts  in  volumes  while  many  other  men 
would  hardly  have  sketched  out  their  plan.  All  this,  though  admirable  in  a man 
of  action,  was  not  the  temperament  to  form  the  solid  metaphysician,  — nay,  it  was 
precisely  opposed  to  that  deep  reflective  habit,  that  sinking  into  one’s  own 
inmost  consciousness,  from  which  alone  speculative  philosophy  can  obtain  light 
and  advancement.”  ’ 

But  the  artist  is  above  all  a man  of  action,  of  deeds  ; and  no  temperament 
could  be  more  artistic  than  the  one  thus  painted.  More  love  of  action  than  love 
of  contemplation,  and  more  perceptive  power  than  reasoning  power,  — this  seems 

^ Morell,  History  of  Modern  Philosophy,  i.  142,  143. 


46 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


to  have  been  Priestley’s  character  not  only  as  a inetaphysician  but  as  a man  of  sci- 
ence too.  And  if  it  was  the  character  of  a Priestley  who  was  by  training  and 
profession  a philosopher,  Richardson  may  with  certainty  be  said  to  have  been 
indebted  for  his  talent  to  that  maternal  blood  of  wdiich  he  ahvays  loved  to  boast. 

In  conclusion  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  Priestley’s  portraits  show  a strong- 
likeness  to  his  great-grandson,  not  in  general  type  or  in  coloring  but  in  the 
shape  of  the  forehead  and  the  manner  in  which  the  hair  grows  above  it,  and  in 
the  peculiar  line  of  the  eyebrows  — rising  sharply  towards  the  tem2:)les.  Even 
the  fact  that  Richardson’s  stammer  was  inherited  from  the  Doctor  (who  re- 
garded it  as  “ a providential  check  ” upon  his  “ undue  loquacity  ”)  seems  not  in- 
significant as  emphasizing  their  close  kinship  ; nor  the  fact  that  the  only  one  of 
Richardson’s  six  children  who  has  inherited  the  stammer  from  him  has  also  inher- 
ited a face  which  still  more  nearly  resembles  the  Doctor’s  than  did  his  own. 


CHAPTER  Till. 


EARLY  WORKS. 

The  manner  in  which  Richardson  began  his  pro- 
fessional life  and  gained  his  first  commission  has 
already  been  described.  The  Church  of  the  Unity 
was  a much  more  important  j)iece  of  work  than  usu- 
ally Mis  to  a beginner’s  lot,  and  for  Richardson  the 
difficulties  it  presented  were  peculiarly  great.  He 
had  been  trained  in  Paris  upon  problems  of  a very 
different  kind,  and  travel  had  not  suiij^lemented  the 
teachings  of  the  School.  The  ecclesiastical  art  of 
England  was  the  study-book  to  which  the  taste  of 
the  moment  in  America  distinctly  pointed  him.  It 
is  unlikely  that  he  had  familiarized  himself  with  this 
art  even  upon  paper,  while  he  was  of  course  without 
that  knowledge  of  local  materials,  methods  of  con- 
struction, and  business  customs  which  most  archi- 
tects gain  during  a term  of  pupilage  at  liomCo  The 
success  of  his  effort  is  therefore  doubly  remarkable. 

In  general  scheme  the  Church  of  the  Unity  is 
based  upom  a rural  English  type.  It  has  no  tran- 
sejAs  or  western  portal,  but  has  aisles  and  clerestory 
and  at  the  southwestern  angle  a projecting  porch 
above  which  rise  tower  and  spire.^  These  are  Eng- 
lish in  feeling,  and  the  windows  in  all  parts  of  the 
building  are  acutely  pointed.  But  here  analogies 
end.  There  is  no  effort  after  “ scholarly”  treatment 
according  to  any  historic  pattern.  No  mouldings  or 
sculptured  decorations  are  anywhere  employed,  the 
square-sectioned  windows  being  merely  surmounted 
by  thin,  flat  drip-stones  Avhich  have  too  much  the 
effect  of  wooden  features  to  be  commended  except  for  friiiik  sim])licity.  And  as 
the  Unitarian  service  did  not  require  it,  there  is  no  chancel. 

It  is  most  interesting  to  see  how  this  first  Avork  reveals  the  essential  qualities  of 
Richardson’s  art,  hoAV  it  proves  that  Avhat  he  thought  most  about  Avas  the  building 
as  a whole  — the  mass,  the  body  — and  not  any  one  feature  or  any  ([uestion  ol 
treatment  or  decoration.  Other  Gothic  churches  have  been  built  in  America 
Avhich  seem  better  than  this  if  tested  for  evidence  of  academic  knoAvledge  or  of  a 

^ On  account  of  the  surrounding  trees  no  good  })icture  of  the  church  as  it  a|)])ears  to-day  could  be  obtained. 


TOWER,  CHURCH  OF  THE  UNITY,  SPRINGFIELD. 
(Auloyraph  Urawiny  by  11. 11.  likhardstm.) 


48 


llENPiY  HOBSON  FilCHArilJSON. 


satisfactory  as  a composition,  while  all  its  lines  hear  clear  witness  to  the  clisj)Osition 
of  its  interior.  The  suhordinate  rooms  which  lie  to  the  eastward  are  neither  con- 
fused with  the  church  proper  nor  dissevered  from  it.  Each  mass  has  its  own  roof, 
but  the  two  roofs  unite  in  a harmonious  whole  from  whichever  side  they  are 
seen.  The  porch  beneath  the  tower  is  attractively  designed,  and  the  west  front 
is  much  more  interesting  than  in  the  average  English  church  where  entrance  is 
effected  through  a porch.  A low  aisle-like  inclosed  arcade  runs  all  across  it,  form- 
ing a large  vestibule  which  is  of  as  great  practical  as  artistic  value. 


STUDY  FOR  CHURCH  OF  THE  UNITY,  SPRINGFIELD. 


sense  of  the  beauty  possible  to  individual  features.  But  we  seldom  find  one  Avhicli 
is  half  so  good  in  general  conception  and  arrangement,  which  so  immediately  affects 
us  as  a whole,  an  entity,  or  is  so  harmoniously  massed,  so  graceful  in  silhouette. 
Eortunately  it  stands  a])art  from  the  neighboring  houses  on  a slightly  elevated 
site  and  may  he  well  seen  from  several  points  of  vicuv.  Eroin  each  it  is  entirely 


EARLY  WORKS. 


49 


Inside,  both  scheme  and  treatment  are  simple.  There  are  no  galleries,  and  at 
the  west  end  there  is  nothing  between  the  low  doors  that  lead  into  the  vestibule 
and  the  high-jilaced  rose-window  except  a plain  field  of  wall  which,  it  is  said, 
Richardson  hoped  might  some  day  be  covered  by  a great  picture.  The  treatment 
of  the  east  end  is,  however,  individual  and  interesting.  Choir-galleries  and  organ- 
pipes  are  placed  in  two  groups  above  the  pulpit,  forming  with  it  an  agreeable 
composition  and  doing  much  to  redeem  that  architectiiral  nudity  which  the  ab- 
sence of  a chancel  involves  ; and  behind  the  pipes  the  wall  is  pierced  in  such  a 
way  that  the  organ  may  also  be  used  for  services  held  in  the  Sunday-school  room 
heyond.  The  whole  interior  is  colored  on  a very  simple  scheme  sui^erintended  by 
Richardson  himself.  It  is  rather  “ hot  ” and  shows  no  especially  strong  feeling 
for  color,  yet  it  has  no  trace  of  that  crudeness  or  of  that  vulgar  over-emphasis  in 
tone  which  at  this  time  still  commonly  characterized  such  work. 

Outside,  the  red  sandstone  of  which  the  church  is  entirely  biult  is  well  treated, 
though  not  with  the  technical  individuality  that  marks  Richardson’s  maturcr 
work ; and  on  the  whole,  it  is  a building  the  aspect  of  which  would  do  credit  to  a 
later  day  and  a much  more  experienced  hand,  while  its  j^ractical  success  is  heartily 
vouched  for  by  its  owners. 

The  next  building  Richardson  designed  — the  railroad-ofiices  close  by  the  Bos- 
ton and  Albany  Station  in  Springfield  — is  rectangular,  stands  on  a corner  site, 
and  measures  about  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  by  sixty  feet.  It  is  four  stories  in 
height,  with  a mansard  roof,  and  is  built  of  light-gray  granite  — rock-faced  ashlar 
with  rusticated  angles  and  cut  trimmings.  If  we  knew  neither  its  date  nor  the 
name  of  its  builder  we  should  not  think  it  especially  interesting  or  individual, 
though  it  would  reveal  a much  truer  feeling  for  proportion  and  for  repose  and 
dignity  than  have  often  been  combined  in  our  commercial  structures.  Named 
and  dated,  however,  it  has  points  of  great  interest.  It  proves  in  the  first  place 
that  even  when  thus  fresh  from  his  Paris  training  Richardson  felt  no  wish  to 
put  the  special  lessons  of  that  training  into  practice.  Though  in  style  it  is  “ free 
classic,”  it  is  not  “ free  classic  ” of  any  current  Parisian  type.  It  is  a Roman 
Renaissance  scheme  of  much  the  same  sort  as  other  American  architects,  very  dif- 
ferently trained,  have  very  frequently  tried.  Again,  the  boldness  with  which  the 
rock-faced  stone  is  used  was  much  more  remarkable  twenty  years  ago  than  it 
would  be  to-day,  and  gives  a hint  of  that  feeling  for  “ bigness  ” which,  in  technical 
as  well  as  in  other  directions,  so  strongly  characterizes  Richardson’s  later  wx)rk. 

Ilis  next  building  was  a charming  little  rural  Episcopal  church  at  West  Med- 
ford, near  Boston,  the  commission  for  which  he  gained  in  conij)etition. 

Here  again  an  English  type  is  in  some  parts  reproduced,  though  again  w ith  no 
“ scholarly  ” minuteness.  The  tower  rises  over  the  north  transept  and  the  main 
l)orch  is  towairds  the  w^est  end  of  the  north  side.  There  is  a rose-w  indoAv  in  tlu' 
west  end  above  a small  plain  door,  and  eastward  a chancel  (finislied  as  a polygonal 
apse)  the  walls  of  w hich  are  of  the  same  height  as  those  of  the  nave  but  the  roof 
much  lower.  The  design  has  great  breadth  and  simplicity,  and  the  apse  with  its 
buttresses  and  high-])laced  arcade  of  small  w indow  s is  an  especdally  charming  fi'a- 
ture.  The  most  notew  ortliy  })oint  about  the  building,  how  ever,  is  the  nature  of  its 


50 


IlEXUY  HOBSON  ItlClIAlWSON. 


material.  It  was  a bold  but  a sensible  and  artistie  de^iee  to  employ  for  its  walls 
those  loose,  rounded  stones  which  the  retreat  of  the  glacial  ice  left  so  thickly  scat- 
tered over  New  England  soil. 

“ Tliat  is  best  which  lieth  nearest  — - 
Shape  from  that  thy  work  of  art,” 


is  advice  which  need  not  tdwtiys  be  taken  as  the  tirchitect’s  rule  of  practice.  But 
it  is  certtnnly  sound  tidvice  when  economy  should  be  consulted,  and,  intrinsically, 
the  bowlders  of  New  Enghuid  were  as  A^x'll  entitled  to  be  ])iit  to  architectural  ser- 
vice as,  for  instance,  those  Norfolk  flints  with  which  old  English  builders  pro- 
duced such  charming  and  such  individmd  results.  Bichardson  was  not  the  very 
first  tirchitcct  to  use  them,  but  the  success  of  liis  churcb  first  conspicuously  proved 
their  artistic  value.’  They  are  very  a igorously  and  frankly  managed,  but  very 
sensildy  except  in  the  spire  where  the  outline  is  rather  disagreeably  broken  by  the 
over-prominence  of  certain  units.  Cut  stone  is  employed  for  the  trimmings  in 
sufficient  ([iiantity  and  with  sufficient  skill  to  give  stability  of  effect  and  an  appro- 
priate dc'gree  of  refinement.  Arches  in  which  the  outer  line  of  the  voussoirs 
takes  a shai'ifer  ciiiu  e than  the  inner  line  are  not  always  agreeable  features ; but 
here  their  effect  is  good,  for  it  increases  the  apj^arent  strength  of  the  arch,  and 
with  so  heterogeneous  a wall-fabric  strength  in  the  arch  was  particnlarly  desir- 
[ible.-2 

These  are  the  three  Avorks  Avhicli  Bichardson  built  before  his  association  Avith 
Mr.  Gambrill. 

The  first  he  f)uilt  after  that  association  had  been  formed,  Avith  the  exception  of 
a dAvelling-house  in  Boston,'^  Avas  the  Agawam  Bank  in  Springfield  — a granite 
facade  three  stories  in  height  Avith  a mansard  roof.  The  dooinvay  and  the  Avin- 
doAvs  of  the  loAver  floor  are  round-arched  ; the  up])er  AvindoAvs  are  segmentally 
pointed ; and  in  all  of  them  the  immensely  heavy,  rock-faced  voussoirs  differ 
still  more  conspicuously  than  at  Medford  in  the  lines  of  their  outer  and  inner 
curves.  A very  stumj)y  little  marble  column  — its  shaft  not  much  deeper  than  its 
foliated  capital  — is  everywhere  introduced  betAveen  the  jamb  and  the  arch. 
Naturally,  such  a building  is  conspicuous  and  striking  ; but  it  is  striking  as  are 
countless  others  in  all  American  toAvns  Avhere  pure  hmtasy  or  a desire  to  do 
“something  iieAV  ” seems  to  have  been  the  ruling  motive.  And  yet  it  gives  cer- 
tain signs  of  latent  ability.  It  is  bad  as  a Avork  of  art  but  not  bad  in  a Aveak, 
hesitating,  or  inconsistent  Avay.  It  is  “ all  of  a piece  ” and  sIioavs  that  though  its 
designer  Avas  mistaken  in  his  aim  he  kncAV  very  clearly  Avhat  that  aim  Avas ; and 
there  is  a rough,  even  brutal  sti’ength  in  the  Avay  its  stones  are  used  and  treated 
Avhich  means  an  immature,  exaggerated  effort  after  valuable  qualities  aa  hich  fcAV 
architects  at  that  day  seemed  to  prize. 

^ The  use  of  these  bowlders  was  suggested  to  Richard- 
son by  Mrs.  Brooks,  one  of  the  donors  of  the  church. 

They  had  already  been  employed  in  building  a barn  on 
her  country-place. 

^ The  frank  eclecticism  of  Richardson’s  work,  even  at 
this  early  period,  is  shown  by  his  use  of  this  kind  of  arch. 


which  never  occurs  iu  English  work  of  any  historic  period 
but  is  frequent  in  Italian. 

® For  the  sake  of  clearness  it  has  seemed  l)est  to  leave 
all  Richardson’s  dwelling-houses  to  be  described  in  a sej)- 
arate  chapter ; and  in  the  same  chapter  his  railroad  sta- 
tions will  also  be  noticed. 


EARLY  WORKS. 


51 


The  High  School  hiiilcling  for  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  commissioned  in  No- 
vember, 1869,  is  also  “ nondescript  ” in  style  and  quite  different  from  any  j3re- 
vious  essay.  It  is  a rectangular  structure  with  a basement,  two  main  stories, 
and  a mansard  with  many  dormers,  with  corner  pavilions,  independently  roofed, 
and  in  the  centre  of  the  fagade  a bold  arrangement  of  stairs  and  porch  above 
which  rises  a tower  finished  Avith  a very  tall  and  slender  spire.  The  main  Avindow 
in  each  face  of  the  toAver  is  round-arched,  but  all  the  other  openings  are  square 
— sometimes  single  and  sometimes  grouped.  All  the  horizontal  divisions  are 
strongly  marked,  and  though  the  design  sIioavs  minor  faults  it  shoAVs  many  points 
of  excellence  as  Avell  ; and  as  a Avhole  it  has  much  more  character  — is  much 
more  of  a conception  — than  either  of  the  secular  designs  AAdiich  had  preceded 
it.  A very  notcAvorthy  because  at  that  time  Avholly  novel  feature  Avas  its  decora- 
tion by  pronounced  surface-color.  The  main  material  Avas  red  brick,  but  black 
bricks,  and  red,  green,  and  black  tiles  Avere  profusely  introduced,  — as  in  the 
string-courses  and  betAveen  the  dormers,  — and  vari-colored  slates  Avere  used  on 
the  roof.  A brother  architect,  aa  riting  to  llichardson  before  the  Avork  Avas  quite 
finished,  says  : — 

“ The  High  School  I liked  much.  But  the  green  tiles  are  not  a success  — too 
strong  in  color  and  not  rich.  Moreover  they  are  not  in  harmony  Avith  anything 
else.  The  other  thing  that  struck  me  as  not  right  is  the  slating  — its  color.  It 
is  so  arranged  as  to  obscure  the  line  of  the  cornice  instead  of  making  it  more  dis- 
tinct. It  takes  some  study  to  distinguish  the  red  slates  from  the  red  brick  of  the 
dormers,  and  both  together  make  a red  surface  aa  hicli  looks  like  Avail.  I think 
the  slates  hetAveen  the  dormers  should  have  been  black  or  green.  The  toAvers  and 
roof  and  all  that,  seem  to  me  a success,  and  I think  the  Worcester  people  Avill 
like  it  Avhen  they  are  used  to  it.  But  they  Avill  not  get  used  to  the  green  tiles. 
At  least  I should  not.  The  use  of  black  bricks  for  surface  decoration  is  interest- 
ing, and  I am  glad  to  see  it  done.  But  I should  hesitate  about  copying  it.  It 
looks  a little  poor  as  Avell  as  flat.  The  toAver  promises  to  be  stunning  and  the 
corner  pavilions  are  much  improved  from  the  sketch.” 

An  exhihition-building  for  the  toAvn  of  Cordova,  Argentine  Republic,  Avas  com- 
missioned in  November,  1869.  It  Avas  a Avooden  structure,  not  very  large, 
Avhich  Avas  carefully  put  together  in  a vacant  lot  in  Ncav  York,  taken  to  pieces 
again,  and  shipped  to  South  America  Avith  a number  of  carpenters  Avho  svqAerin- 
tended  its  final  erection. 

The  commission  to  build  the  Brattle  Square  Church  ^ in  Boston  for  a Congre- 
gational Society  Avas  gained  in  competition  in  July,  1870. 

It  is  a cruciform  building,  not  very  large,  Avitli  a lofty  toAver  aa  hicli  stands  in  the 
angle  betAveen  nave  and  transept,  resting  upon  four  2iicrs  connected  by  great  round 
arches.  The  carriage-iiorch  Avhich  is  thus  formed  ojiens  into  a Ioav  arcaded  por- 
tico or  vcstihidc  that  is  built  out,  flush  Avith  the  face  of  the  toAver,  from  the  end 
of  the  transept.  This  arcade  and  all  the  large  AvindoAA  s are  round-arched,  hut  a 
range  of  groujied  square-headed  lights  occurs,  hcneath  a large  rose,  in  the  end  of 

^ This  name  is  a mere  survival  of  that  hy  which  the  The  churcli  stands  on  tlie  corner  of  Commonwealth  Ave- 
congregation’s  earlier  place  of  worship  had  been  known.  nue  and  Clarendon  Street. 


HKNIl  1 ' JIOJi^ON  UK' II A U DSON. 


the  iiaAC,  Tlie  roof'  cind 
loin  ro  - l)oards  are  covered 
Avith  red  tiles,  the  frieze  and 
the  capitals  in  the  porch  are 
of  a lii>ht-colored  stone,  and 
the  angels’  trumpets  are 
gilded.  A single  kind  of 
stone  appears  in  the  rest  of 
the  strnctnrc  — in  Avails  and 
trimmings  alike  — and  the 
treatment  of  its  surface  does 
not  vary.  But  it  is  a pud- 
ding-stone of  a warm  ^^ellon^ 
tint  conspicuously  div  ersified 
n ith  darker  iron-stains,  and 
such  good  advantage  has 
heen  taken  of  its  changing 
tone  to  avoid  monotony  in 
the  fields  of  wall  and  to 
accent  the  trimmings  that 
the  general  color  effect  is 
both  ric-li  and  animated. 

Nt'vertheless  the  church 
is  not,  as  a whole,  a success- 
fid  piece  of  work.  No  part 
of  it  is  very  interesting  ex- 
cept the  tower,  and  though 
this  is  in  itself  superb  it  has 
little  organic  relation  to  the 
lower  masses  and  crushes 
them  b}'  its  excessive  size 
and  stateliness.  Its  chief 
intrinsic  beauty  is  its  chief 
defect  as  a feature  in  such  a 
composition.  I mean  its 
magnificent  independence 
— the  way  it  rises  in  a sin- 
gle spring  from  its  own 
sturdy  feet.  Disdaining  the 
support  of  the  adjacent 
walls  it  deprives  them  of 
dignity,  and  would  itself  ap- 
pear to  better  advantage  if 
they  did  not  exist,  — if  it 
stood  in  actual  as  it  does  in  virtual  independence.  And  there  was  once  a chance 
that  it  might  thus  stand.  The  church  was  a jiartial  failure,  not  only  from  an 


TOWER,  NEW  BRATTLE  SQUARE  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 


EAELY  WOliKS. 


53 


artistic  but  from  a practical  point  of  view.  Its  acoustic  properties  were  bad,  and 
when  — for  reasons  of  poverty  and  of  decline  in  numbers  incident  to  their  re- 
moval to  so  distant  a site  — its  owners  were  coinj^elled  to  abandon  it  shortly  after 
its  consecration,  it  remained  unused  for  several  years.  In  1881  it  was  bought  by 
a i^rivate  purchaser,  again  offered  for  sale,  and  saved  from  destruction  by  the 
generous  action  of  a few  citizens,  who  subscribed  a certain  sum  towards  its 
purdiase  on  condition  that  the  tower  at  least  should  forever  be  preserved.  Ilich- 
ardson  always  said  that  the  acoustic  difficulty  might  be  overcome  by  the  build- 
ing of  galleries,  but  was  not  allowed  by  his  clients  to  try  the  experiment.  It 
has  been  tried,  however,  Jind  with  the  best  success,  by  its  present  owners  (the 
First  Baptist  Society)  ; and  there  now  seems  little  pros2)ect  that  the  2Droj)osal  so 
often  made  while  the  church  stood  idle  will  be  carried  out  — the  i3roj:)Osal  that  its 
body  should  be  jnilled  down  and  the  site  planted  as  a little  loark,  leaving  the  tower 
in  isolation  like  one  of  those  Italian  camj^aniles  to  which  in  outline  it  bears  so 
strong  a likeness.  It  is  cpiite  certain  that  Bichardson  himself  would  not  have 
been  disj^leased  to  see  this  done.  Nothing  about  the  church  satisfied  him  excejit 
the  tower,  but  for  this  he  had  an  esj)ecial  liking,  and  its  volimtary  redeni2:)tion  by 
the  2^eo2)le  of  Boston  2)leased  and  touched  him  dee23ly. 

There  is  scarcely  another  work  of  his  which  could  be  criticised  as  this  church 
must  be.  His  most  constant  merit  as  a designer  was  his  2)ower  in  general  conce23- 
tion  — the  way  in  which  he  first  “ got  his  building  ” as  a whole  and  then  got  its 
features,  working  so  that  each  feature  should  have  its  due  relative  ini2)ortance 
and  no  more,  and  that  all  should  act  together  to  the  enhancement  of  the  main 
architectural  ini2)ression.  And  even  here,  if  we  consider  the  tower  in  and  for  itself, 
we  find  this  characteristic  merit  2>i’<^ved.  Judged  in  itself  the  tower  is  good  and 
im2)ressive  as  a whole  — not  by  virtue  of  the  se23arate  excellence  of  certain  fea- 
tures. Perha2)s  to  some  eyes  its  chief  charm  may  seem  to  lie  in  its  great  scul2)tnred 
frieze.  But  it  does  not ; it  lies  in  the  main  conce2)tion  and  in  the  artistic  concord 
of  all  other  features  with  the  frieze  itself.  It  is  their  a2)2)ro2)riateness  to  the  2)hice 
they  hold,  their  right  effect  as  25ortions  of  a large  design,  which  makes  the  SC11I2)- 
tures  so  ini2)osing.  The  tower  does  not  exist  for  them  but  they  for  the  tower,  and 
their  own  beauty  is  accented  by  the  fact.  The  frieze  was  modeled  by  the  French 
scnl2itor  Bartholdi  in  Paris,  but  the  general  idea  for  it  was  Ilichardson’s,  and  the 
carving  was  done  by  Italian  workmen  after  the  stones  were  in  ])lace. 

A mixture  of  diverse  elements  — French  and  Italian,  ecclesiastic  and  secular 
— shows  in  the  various  features  of  this  church.  But  Roniancs(2ue  forms  are  par- 
amount, and,  though  they  are  not  treated  in  at  all  the  same  S2)irit  which  Ivichard- 
son’s  later  works  reveal,  they  give  the  building  extreme  ini2)ortance  as  the  first 
Avhich  in  any  way  2^redicts  the  ultimate  course  of  his  develo2)ment. 

A large  State  Asylum  for  the  Insane,  to  be  built  at  Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  at  a cost  of 
two  million  dollars,  was  commissioned  (in  coni2)etition)  in  March,  1871.  It  has 
a central  2)iivilion,  with  two  towers  of  moderate  height  and  a recessed  2^<^i‘t‘h  of 
three  round  arches,  flanked  by  long  retreating  wings.  It  is  dignified  and  credit- 
able as  a com])osition,  but  its  chief  excellence  lies  in  its  2)h>n»  which  Richardson 
ada2)tcd  from  a French  2^i’ototy2)c. 


CTIAPTEH  IX. 


EAKLY  WOKKH. 


Kiciiardson’s  next  Avork  Avas  the  Hamp- 
den County  Conrt-lionse  at  Springfield, 
Mass.,  commissioned  (in  competition)  in 
.Inly,  1871.  Here  again  llomanesqne 
teatnres  are  cons])iciious,  altliongli  they 
do  not  prei)ondcrate  in  the  general  effect. 
And  here  again  — and  more  appropriate 
because  put  to  sccnlar  service  — is  the 
machicolatcd  cornice  Avhich  speaks  of  a 
study  of  the  fortified  palaces  of  Tuscan 
toAvns.  Ai)i)ropriately,  too,  it  is  accoin- 

STUDY  FOK  NORTH  CHURCH,  SPhINGFIELD.  XXX  */ 

l)aiiied  by  forked  battlements ; and  if 
Ilichardson  had  been  permitted  to  carry  out  his  oi’iginal  intention,  the  body  of  the 
hidlding  Avonld  have  l)ecn  j)rotected  by  overhanging  eaves,  supported  by  great 
brackets  in  the  niedi®val  Italian  Avay.  The  present  set-hack  cornice  Avas  the  result, 
and  not  an  entirely  happy  one,  of  his  determination  to  liaA  c a very  emphatic 
feature  of  some  kind,  even  if  not  of  the  kind  he  preferred. 

The  building  stands  free  on  all  sides,  though  not  far  enough  from  its  neighhors 
to  be  very  advantageously  seen,  and  is  built  thronghoiit  of  granite.  Its  depth  is 
much  greater  than  its  breadth  on  the  tAvo  main  streets ; therefore  the  ends  toAvard 
these  streets  are  designed  as  great  pavilions,  and  the  central  connecting  portion  is 
somcAvliat  deeply  recessed  betAveen  them.  The  entrance  fayade  forms,  of  course, 
one  of  the  shorter  fronts.  The  roof  Avith  its  dormers  and  the  toAver  group  aa  ell 
together,  and  the  toAver  groAvs  organically  from  the  loAver  mass.  It  cannot  he  said 
that  all  minor  features  are  so  fused  together  and  so  infused  Avith  individual  feeling 
that  they  form  an  arcliitectural  conception  in  the  truest,  best  sense  of  the  Avord : 
and  some  of  them  are  palpably  discordant  — like  the  steps,  Avliich  are  not  very 
dignified  in  themselves  and  not  Avell  united  Avith  the  loggia  ; and  like  the  balcony, 
which  sadly  Aveakens  the  most  conspicuous  corner.  Yet  it  may  he  said  that  in 
general  they  harmonize  fairly  Avell,  that  they  Avork  together  to  give  one  the  im- 
pression of  a dignified  building  and  not  of  an  aggregate  of  disconnected  parts. 
The  chief  Romanesque  motive  — the  loggia  — is  treated  feebly,  if  Ave  take  Rich- 
ardson’s OAvn  later  manner  as  a standard.  But  the  mere  introduction  of  such  a 
motive  Avas  a piece  of  hold  originality  at  that  day,  and  the  Avhole  design  was  then 
so  novel  and  so  much  stronger  than  the  average  of  such  designs,  that  Ave  cannot 
Avonder  the  Court-house  made  a deep  imjAression  and  Avas  thought  to  promise  a 
great  future  for  its  author.  Even  to-day  it  Avould  be  counted  a more  than  credit- 
able Avork  for  so  young  a man. 


EARLY  WORKS. 


To  my  mind  the  best  part  of  it,  and  the  part  which  is  most  truthfully  prophetic, 
is  not  the  more  elaborate  fagade,  but  the  rear  — which  is  very  plain,  frankly  utili- 
tarian in  accent,  yet  so  massive,  dignified,  and  well-proportioned  as  to  be  really 
monumental.  It  shows  how  much  may  be  done  for  the  simplest  walls  by  care- 
fully designed,  strongly  battered  foundation-courses.  No  device  was  used  by  Rich- 
ardson more  constantly  or  artistically  than  this,  and  there  is  none  which  plays 
a greater  part  in  exjDlaining  the  admirable  sturdiness  of  all  his  structures. 

.1 

The  dated  list  which  has  been  prepared  for  this  volume  from  the  old  office-books 
of  Richardson’s  firm  gives  the  year  1868  as  that  in  which  the  North  Church  at 
Springfield  was  commissioned.  But  the  design  then  prepared  was  for  a new  build- 
ing on  the  old  site,  and  it  was  afterwards  decided  to  build  upon  a new  site.  The 
present  church  was  not  begun  until  June,  1872,  and  its  character  proves  the  prep- 
aration of  a fresh  design,  for  it  is  much  more  akin  to  Richardson’s  later  works 
than  either  the  Brattle  Square  Church  or  the  Court-house.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  first 
of  his  buildings  which  can  be  called  really  characteristic.  Here  for  the  first  time 
speaks  the  Romanesque  spirit  as  he  afterwards  so  consistently  expressed  it  — 
somewhat  crudely  voiced  and  not  unmixed  with  other  accents,  yet  unmistakably 
the  same. 

It  is  not  in  groui)ing  and  outline  that  one  finds  the  church  thus  characteristic. 
But  the  composition  is  very  good  of  its  kind,  the  tower  being  well  adapted  in  size 
to  the  lower  masses  and  well  connected  with  them,  and  having,  with  its  spire,  a 
strong  and  graceful  silhouette.  All  the  features  of  the  tower  are  concordant,  the 
transition  from  square  to  octagon  is  especially  well  and  simply  managed,  and  this 
jDortion  of  the  design,  at  least,  seems  distinctly  Richardsonian  in  idea  and  treat- 
ment. It  is  especially  interesting  to  note  the  unconventional  yet  fortunate  way 
in  which  the  tower  windows  are  treated.  The  turret  impinges  too  much  on  the 
lateral  face  of  the  tower  for  the  window  to  hold  there  the  same  central  station  as 
in  front.  But  instead  of  making  his  window  smaller,  Richardson  preserved  unity 
and  simplicity  by  making  it  the  same  in  size  and  shape  and  pushing  it  boldly 
aside,  almost  to  the  quoins.  The  effect  is  piquant  but  has  no  touch  of  willfulness, 
for  it  at  once  explains  itself  as  sensible. 

The  entire  building,  spire  and  all,  is  of  red  Longmeadow  sandstone  and  the 
roofs  are  tiled.  The  nave,  which  is  without  aisles,  measures  one  hundred  feet  by 
sixty  feet  and  the  transept  eighty-four  feet  by  forty-four  feet.  The  contract  price 
was  forty-eight  thousand  dollars  and  the  actual  cost  but  little  over  fifty  thousand 
dollars.  Severe  simplicity  of  treatment  was  therefore  prescribed.  But  this  sim- 
plicity is  so  frankly  confessed  for  what  it  is,  and  secures  so  much  grace  as  well  as 
strength  of  effect,  that  it  not  only  satisfies  but  charms  the  eye.  The  witness  of 
the  North  Church  ;done  should  be  enough  in  the  eyes  of  any  observer  to  put  the 
claims  of  cheap  elaboration  forever  out  of  court. 

The  Phoenix  Insurance  Company’s  building  in  Hartford,  Conn.,  commissioned 
in  March,  1872,  docs  not  call  for  detailed  description,  though  it  was  interesting 
and  influential  in  its  day  as  another  attempt  at  pronounced  color-treatment.  It  is 
built  of  yellow,  red,  and  black  bricks  with  freestone  trimmings. 

The  American  Merchants’  Union  Express  Company’s  building  in  Chicago 


HENlir  HOBSON  BICIIABBSON. 


:A) 

should  be  included  here  ainoiii*;  Richardson’s  early  works,  for,  although  it  was 
cominissioned  a few  months  later  than  Trinity  Church,  it  was  built  before  the 
construction  of  this  had  had  its  intiuence  upon  him.  It  is  dignihed  and  in  many 
features  yery  good,  and  it  shows  a use  of  Ronianesc[ue  motives  which  entitles  it  to 
rank  as  the  first  of  his  commercial  structures  that  can  he  called  characteristic  ; 
yet  it  is  still  “ nondescri])!  ” rather  than  consistent  in  style. 

With  the  excei)tion  of  two  or  three  dwelling-houses  these  buildings  are  all  that 
Richardson  designed  in  his  first  or  tentative  period.  He  began  no  others  until 
Trinity  Church  had  been  given  three  years  of  his  life. 

A surve}'  of  this  tentative  period  may  offer  some  surprises  to  those  who  have 
known  Richardson’s  art  mainly  in  its  maturer  phases.  8o  great  in  later  years  was 
his  consistency  in  aim,  feeling,  and  manner,  that  it  is  natural  perhaps  to  expect  to 
find  something  of  the  same  consistency  marking  his  very  earliest  efforts.  Rut  we 
do  not  find  it.  His  early  buildings,  taken  as  a whole,  do  not  foreshadow  those 
whose  list  begins  with  ’frinity  Church,  and  though  characteristic  features  noAv  and 
again  ap])ear,  it  is  not  in  such  a way  that  at  the  time  any  certain  projdiecy  could 
have  been  gathered  from  them.  First  one  scheme  is  tried  and  then  another. 
Often  it  is  a scheme  which  may  best  he  described  as  “ nondescript,”  and  whatever 
its  nature  it  is  never  so  repeated  or  reechoed  as  to  show  a desire  to  work  out  its 
j)ossihilities  Avith  thoroughness.  A more  diverse,  more  ])al])al)ly  experimental 
series  of  huildings  it  Avould  he  hard  to  find  from  any  hand.  In  short,  we  see  that 
in  these  earlit'r  years  Richardson  Avas  simply  feeling  his  Avay  — and  toAvards  what, 
he  coidd  not  himself  have  told.  He  Avas  also  feeling  it  more  cautiously  than  in 
retrospect  may  seem  cpdte  natural.  If  Ave  except  the  toAA  er  of  the  Brattle  Square 
Church,  he  made  no  experiments  of  so  “ big  and  bold  ” a sort  that,  even  if  unsuc- 
cessful, they  Avould  seem  quite  in  keeping  Avith  his  later  big  and  hold  successes. 

Yet  none  of  his  Avork  is  really  Aveak  or  timid,  and  it  all  looked  a good  deal 
bigger  and  holder  Avhen  it  was  built  than  it  does  to-day.  This  is  a point  which 
Ave  should  never  forget  : the  great  advance,  both  in  vigor  and  in  skill,  Avhich 
Ave  have  made  in  the  last  tAventy  years  largely  through  Richardson’s  oavii  influ- 
ence. When  Ave  admire,  although  Avith  reservations,  this  early  conception  or  that, 
AAdien  Ave  approve  the  vigorous  treatment  of  his  surfaces,  Avhen  Ave  delight  in  the 
beautiful  color  as  Avell  as  form  of  the  Brattle  Square  toAver,  Avhen  Ave  appreciate 
the  daring  hut  Avise  because  appropriate  use  of  cobble-stones  at  Medford,  even 
Avhen  Ave  smile  a little  at  the  almost  brutal  over-emphasis  of  the  chisel’s  Avork  in 
the  AgaAvam  Bank,  or  at  the  crudeness  of  the  color-scheme  in  the  Worcester  High 
School,  Ave  must  remember  the  epoch  when  they  Avere  built  and  Avhat  Avere  then 
the  average  efforts  of  American  architecture.  Only  thus  can  avc  recognize  hoAV 
forcible  and  individual  Avere  in  reality  most  of  Richardson’s  early  efforts. 

Moreover,  if  Ave  keep  in  mind  the  special  circumstances  of  his  oavii  life  and 
education,  their  testimony  to  his  artistic  n'ature  as  avc  kncAV  it  in  after  days  groAvs 
much  more  clear.  Judged  as  the  products  of  a young  man  fresh  from  years  of 
study  and  Avork  in  Paris,  they  shoAV  him  daring  and  original  enough.  Most  of 
his  contemporaries,  if  they  had  been  trained  at  all,  had  not  been  trained  in 
any  one  kind  of  design,  and  Avith  no  recognized  leaders  before  them  were  almost 


EARLY  WORKS. 


57 


driven  to  pursue  a widely  tentative  course.  But  Richardson  had  been  thoroughly 
trained  in  an  artistic  creed  held  with  absolute  hiith  by  a whole  nation  recognized 
as  the  most  artistic  nation  of  the  modern  world.  The  mere  fact  that  this  creed 
had  taken  no  hold  whatever  upon  his  artistic  conscience  certainly  proved  that  he 
had  neither  a conventional  nor  a pliable  mind,  while  the  fact  that  he  did  not  at 
least  cling  to  it  for  safety  proved  that  he  had  a bold  and  self-reliant  nature  — 
safety  might  so  well  have  seemed  the  highest  attainable  good  amid  that  unfamiliar 
American  confusion  which  meant  little  more  than  a confusion  of  sins  and  failures. 
The  strength  of  his  desire  for  self-expression  and  also  of  his  belief  in  his  creative 
power  could  not  have  been  more  clearly  shown  than  by  his  instant  and  entire 
abandonment  of  Parisian  formulas,  illustrated  by  a remark  he  often  made  in  his 
earliest  New  York  days  : “It  would  not  cost  me  a bit  of  trouble  to  build  French 
buildings  that  should  reach  from  here  to  Philadelphia,  but  that  is  not  what  I want 
to  do.”  Knowing  his  disposition,  one  feels  sure  that  a theoretically  develojDed 
belief  that  French  buildings  were  not  suited  to  American  wants  did  not  j^lay 
much  part  in  calling  forth  such  words.  He  was  never  a theorist  about  himself 
except  in  retrospect.  Not  until  he  had  practically  found  what  he  thought  would 
satisfy  American  needs  did  he  try  mentally  to  define  these  needs.  Not  until  he 
had  begun  to  do  his  true  work  did  he  put  into  definite  thought  his  idea  of  what 
an  architect’s  work  here  and  to-day  should  be.  Instinct  was  his  guide,  experi- 
ment his  test,  and  the  first  goal  he  sought  was  something  that  should  thoroughly 
please  himself. 

The  tendencies  thus  shown  in  his  earliest  works  are  the  same  which  showed  in 
his  latest ; and  they  were  tendencies  which  even  while  they  resulted  in  but  par- 
tially successful  works  proved  him  at  once  a born  artist.  It  does  not  impugn  but 
establish  the  vitality  of  his  talent  to  say  that  he  himself  did  not  know  at  first 
whither  it  would  lead  him,  and  that  it  developed  through  exj^eriniental  action,  not 
by  feeding  upon  theories.  And  it  illustrates  the  purely  artistic  character  of  his 
mind  to  say  that  he  was  not  only  able  but  eager  to  submit  himself  to  the  leadings 
of  that  talent  in  spite  of  a training  which  had  inculcated  a very  different  course 
of  action  — to  submit  himself  to  its  leadings  and  to  try  through  a series  of  partial 
failures  for  something  that  would  express  it  better  than  those  Parisian  jDatterns 
with  which  he  might  easily  have  secured  a stereotyped  success. 

Nor,  after  all,  did  he  need  to  experiment  many  times  or  long.  Plis  tentative 
period  was  wonderfully  short  considering  hoAV  much  it  taught  him,  and  the 
marked  diversity  of  its  products  each  from  each  proves  a singular  keenness  of 
percejition  with  regard  to  his  real  wants.  He  experimented  during  five  years 
only,  and  he  never  once  thought  he  was  on  the  right  path  until  he  really  got 
there. 

Of  course  this  was  owing  to  the  fundamental  benefit  of  that  Paris  training  the 
suj)erficial  influence  of  which  he  had  so  instantly  shaken  off.  II is  schooling  had 
not  taught  him  what  was  right  (for  him),  but  it  had  made  him  able  quickly  to 
recognize  what  was  wrong.  An  untrained  mind  wovdd  never  have  seen  its  OAvn 
missteps  so  instantly,  or  so  soon  have  found  and  rapidly  assimilated  the  Avholly 
unfamiliar  elements  out  of  Avhich  it  could  create  success.  Nor,  it  is  almost  need- 
less to  add,  would  an  untrained  mind  have  been  able  to  secure  fundamental  ({uali- 


58 


lIENIiY  HOBSON  lUCHABDSON 


ties  of  excellence  eren  in  results  which  did  not  satisfy  its  aspirations.  Itichardson 
threw  aside  as  useless  the  schemes  upon  which  he  had  worked  so  long  in  Paris, 
but  it  Avas  their  careful  study  Avhich  had  deA  cloped  his  feeling  for  proportion,  his 
poAver  of  coinj)osition,  and  his  appreciation  of  technical  beauty  to  such  a point 
that,  dealing  Avith  Avliolly  unfamiliar  schemes,  he  could  make  his  very  first  Avork 
admirable  in  mass  and  outline,  could  skillfully  manage  the  great  Brattle  Square 
toAA  er  Avith  its  difficidt  decoratiA  e feature,  could  charmingly  reproduce  in  small 
upon  his  Court-house  the  huge  toAvers  of  niedia3Aal  Italy,  could  feel  the  full 
importance  of  such  minor  constructive  features  as  the  profiles  of  foundation- 
courses,  and  could  at  least  try  to  treat  all  surfaces  in  an  interesting  and  appro- 
priate Avay. 

In  truth,  the  more  Ave  consider  the  conditions  amid  AAdiich  he  began  and  the 
preparation  he  had  had,  the  more  vigor  and  individuality  and  poAver  Bichardson’s 
early  Avorks  seem  to  reveal.  And  if  they  do  not  reveal  quite  so  much  of  either 
quality  as  Ave  might  expect,  or  shoAV  so  much  clearness  in  aim  and  consistency 
in  effort,  is  it  not  rather  because  our  instinctive  demands  are  exaggerated  than 
because  his  development  Avas  inconsequent  ? The  results  of  his  life  as  a aa  hole 
shoAv  that  he  Avas  a man  of  phenomenal  jAOAver.  But  Avould  he  not  have  been  a 
man  of  miraculous  poAver  had  he  come  tAventy  years  ago  fresh  from  the  schools  of 
Paris  Avith  a ready-made  anti-Parisian  creed  and  at  once  begun  to  build  successful 
“ original  ” structures,  very  various  in  purpose  but  consistent  in  themselves  and 
among  themselves  to  the  precepts  of  that  creed  ? 


TRINITY  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 


t 


c 


!, 


’.‘•iwiA 


CHAPTER  X. 


TRINITY  CHURCH. 

The  site  selected  for  Trinity  Church  was  one  which  cramped  the  architect  in 
his  search  for  a scheme,  but  which  promised  him  unusual  advantages  of  effect  if 
he  could  find  a fitting  scheme.  It  lay  on  one  side  of  a large,  irregularly  outlined 
square,  where  the  Art  Museum  had  recently  been  built  and  where  other  structures 
might  be  exjiected  which  in  size  at  least  would  be  monumental ; and  it  was  en- 
tirely isolated  — projecting  into,  not  flanking  the  square,  and  thus  having  a street 
of  average  width  on  only  one  of  its  sides.  But  it  was  in  the  shape  of  a triangle 
of  which  the  base-line  formed  by  this  street  was  almost  as  long  as  the  other  two. 

This  fact,  however,  which  to  an  architect  preferring  the  familiar  Gothic  type 
of  church  would  have  seemed  unfortunate,  was  extremely  fortunate  for  Richard- 
son. It  almost  prescribed  a design  based  upon  the  examples  of  that  southern 
Romanesque  which  he  had  just  begun  to  study.  A church  with  a long  nave  and 
a dominant  entrance-front  could  hardly  have  been  well  fitted  to  such  a site.  A 
coni2iact  groimd-iilan,  a pyramidal  mass,  a tower  equally  consiiicuous  from  all 
lioints  of  view  — these  were  jilainly  the  things  to  be  desired.  These  Richardson 
secured,  and  so  very  skillfully  that  his  church  now  looks  as  though  its  situation 
had  been  chosen  exjiressly  that  it  might  show  to  the  best  advantage. 

It  is  cruciform  on  j)lan,  but  all  of  its  limbs  are  of  nearly  equal  breadth  — 
roughly  sjieaking,  fifty  feet  within  the  walls  — and  while  it  measures  one  hundred 
and  twenty-one  feet  from  end  to  end  of  the  transejit  walls  (outside),  it  measures 
only  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  from  the  ajise  wall  to  the  faqade.  The  main 
ceilings  are  sixty-three  feet  and  three  inches  in  height,  and  the  flat  ceiling  of  the 
tower  is  one  hundred  and  three  feet  and  two  inches.  The  tower  is  sujiported  by 
four  great  piers,  set  near  the  angles  of  the  crossing,  which  measure  something  over 
thirty-six  feet  to  the  springing  of  the  arches  that  connect  them  by  a clear  span 
of  forty-six  feet  and  six  inches.  Narrow  aisles,  used  only  as  iiassage-ways,  add 
nine  feet  and  four  inches  to  the  width  of  the  nave,  and  its  clerestory  is  borne  by 
an  arcade  of  two  arches.  Within  this  arcade,  above  the  aisles,  is  a narrow  trifo- 
riuni-like  jiassage  connecting  the  galleries  which  are  built  across  the  ends  of  the 
three  limbs.  The  chancel  proper  is  very  short,  hut  the  apse  is  very  large  (giving 
the  east  limb  a length  of  fifty-seven  feet),  semi-circular,  and  jiicrccd  by  a range  of 
tall  windows  set  well  up  under  the  cornice. 

An  interior  designed  in  some  such  way  as  this  is  certainly  better  suited  to  mod- 
ern needs  than  one  in  which  rows  of  columns  intercc2)t  the  sight  and  s})ace  is 
gained  h}^  longitudinal  extension.  Other  American  architects  had  already  recog- 
nized this  fact  and  had  tried  to  give  it  acccqitable  ex])ression.  But  Trinity  was 
the  first  im^iortant  American  church  which  jirovcd  that  it  might  he  exi)ressed 


60 


HENRY  HOBSON  RIC HARD  SON 


Avith  groat  architectural  beauty  and  Avitli  aii  effect  as  truly  ecclesiastic  as  that  of 
the  “ long-draAvii  aisle ; ” and  the  iiidueiice  of  Richardson’s  success  upon  suhse- 
(pient  practice  has  been  a ery  ])OAyerful.  It  is  impossible  to  say  how  strong  with 
him  AA'as  consciously  the  Aveight  of  practical  considerations  at  the  outset.  The 
mere  ccsthetic  factors  in  his  problem  aa  ere  sufficient,  as  has  been  shoAvn,  to  haye 
alone  determined  his  conception.  But  one  cannot  doubt  that  he  at  once  per- 
ceiA'cd  and  aa  elcomed  the  fact  that  the  claims  of  convenience  and  of  exterior 


PLAN  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH,  CLOISTERS,  AND  C H APE  L- BU  I LD I NG . 


beauty  pointed  in  the  same  direction ; and  he  certainly  nowhere  sacrificed  prac- 
tical to  aesthetic  interests,  and  only  in  a single  feature  sinned  against  entire  appro- 
priateness of  expression.  The  chnrcdi  would  be  far  less  beautiful,  inside  and  out, 
and  no  more  convenient  Avere  the  chancel  smaller.  But,  expressionally  sjoeaking, 
it  is  too  large  a chancel  for  a very  “ loAV-church  ” service.  In  his  usual  optimistic 
Avay  Richardson  thought  that  when  the  chancel  was  once  built  its  owners  Avonld 
be  tempted  into  furnishing  and  using  it  in  an  appropriate  manner.  But  this  hope 
was  unfulfilled,  and  to-day  the  chancel  has  a look  of  uselessness  Avhich  is  certainly 
to  be  deplored.  Yet  its  intrinsic  beauty  — its  purely  artistic  rightness  — is  so 
apparent  that  the  sternest  critic  can  hardly  regret  that  in  its  design  Richardson 
someAvhat  transgressed  the  great  architectural  laAV  of  “ fitness.” 


r 


y 


V.  . 

4 


.•  (■ 


TRINITY  CHURCH. 


61 


As  regards  the  construction  of  the  interior,  it  will  be  best  to  quote  from  a pro- 
fessional pen : — 

“ The  ceilings  of  the  auditorium  are  of  light  furring  and  plaster  in  the  form  of 
a large  barrel-vault  of  trefoil  section,  abutting  against  the  great  arches  of  the 
crossing,  which  are  furred  down  to  a similar  shape,  with  wooden  tie-])eams  casing 
iron  rods  carried  across  on  a level  with  the  cusps  of  the  arches.  The  four  great 
granite  piers  which  sustain  the  weight  of  the  tower  are  encased  with  furring  and 
l)lastering,  finished  in  the  shape  of  grouped  shafts  Avith  grouped  capitals  and  bases. 
The  whole  apparent  construction  is  thus,  contrary  to  the  conviction  of  the  modern 
architectural  moralist,  a mask  of  the  construction.  We  do  not  projAOse  here  to 
enter  upon  the  question  as  to  whether  or  to  what  extent  the  architect  Avas  justi- 
fied in  thus  frankly  denying  his  responsibility  to  the  ethics  of  design  as  jAracticed 
and  expounded  by  the  greatest  masters,  ancient  and  modern  ; it  suffices  ...  to 
note  that  the  material  of  actual  construction  being  noAvhere  visible  in  the  interior 
to  afford  a key  of  color  to  the  decorator  or  to  affect  his  designs  in  any  Avay,  he  had 
before  him  a field  peculiarly  unembarrassed  by  conditions.”^ 

And  it  should  be  added  that  Richardson  had  such  a state  of  things  in  vicAV  from 
the  beginning.  What  he  contemplated  from  the  outset  was,  as  he  said,  “ a color 
church,”  — though  it  is  not  so  easy  to  decide  whether  he  Avas  led  to  the  idea  by 
actual  preference  or  adopted  it  as  the  best  expedient  which  the  money  and  the 
decorative  processes  at  his  command  permitted.  But,  hoAvever  incited,  his  mask- 
ing of  the  construction  was  frank,  consistent,  and  entire.  Except  for  the  division 
of  the  ceiling  into  narroAv  cross-sections  by  moulded  strips  of  dark  wood,  it  left  the 
decorator  a field  as  fortunate  as  free ; and  this  field  Mr.  La  Farge,  though  Avork- 
ing  under  great  difficulties  as  to  time  and  cost,  utilized  in  a way  Avhich  entirely 
justified  the  Avisdom  of  Richardson’s  idea.^ 

The  acoustic  properties  of  the  church  proved  good.  It  was  a nervous  moment 
for  Richardson  Avhen  the  scaffoldings  Avere  removed  and  the  preacher’s  voice  Avas 
tried.  His  partial  failure  Avith  the  Brattle  Square  Church  was  still  fresh  in  men’s 
minds,  and  he  kneAV  that  no  degree  of  purely  artistic  success  would  he  thought  to 
redeem  a second  want  of  success  in  this  great  f>ractical  point. 

The  church  is  placed  so  that  its  entrance  front  faces  the  point  of  the  triangular 
lot  and  overlooks  the  broadest  part  of  the  square,  and  is  set  back  to  the  street- 


^ Henry  Van  Brunt:  “ The  New  Dis2)ensation  in  Mon- 
umental Art,”  Atlantic  Monthly.,  May,  1879. 

^ “Although  it  was  often  suggested  during  the  progress 
of  the  work  that  the  great  jiiers  at  least  should  show  the 
stone  face  a2)i)arent  in  the  church,  this  has,  nevertheless, 
from  the  first  conception  of  the  design,  seemed  in  many 
ways  undesiraWe,  and  2)ro})ositions  looking  to  that  end 
Iiave  heen,  after  careful  consideration,  always  finally  re- 
jected. A rich  effect  of  color  in  tlie  interior  was  an  essen- 
tial element  of  the  design,  and  this  could  not  he  obtained 
in  any  practicable  mateilal  without  painting.  Brick-work, 
which  might  have  been  strong  enough  in  color,  would  not 
have  endured  the  strain  upon  it,  and  the  use  of  granite 
was  a necessity  of  construction.  Tlie  cold,  harsh  effect  of 
this  stone  in  the  midst  of  the  color  decoration  could  not 


be  tolerated,  and  as  between  {)ainting  directly  on  the  stone 
and  plastering  it  to  secure  a smooth  surface,  it  seemed 
decidedly  j>referable  that  there  shoidd  be  no  difference 
in  texture  between  the  piers  and  the  other  walls,  but  that 
all  shoidd  be  plastered  alike.  The  commonjilace  criticism, 
that  jilaster  ‘ conceals  construction,’  can  hardly  be  consi<l- 
ered  to  ajijfiy  here,  for  the  jiiers  and  arclies  being  simj)ly 
jiortions  of  tbe  wall,  it  would  be  difficult  to  show  any  rea- 
son for  jilastei’ing  the  otlier  walls  which  would  not  apj)ly 
e((ually  to  the  piers  ; and  that  the  inner  surface  of  the 
walls  must  in  all  cases  be  exposed  is  a dictum  from  which 
the  most  conscientious  would  shrink.”  — Richardson’s  De- 
scTiption  of  the  Church  in  the  memorial  volume  published 
at  the  time  of  its  consecration. 


02 


HENEY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


line  wliich  forms  the  base  of  the  triangle.  Its  dependencies  — chapel  and  Sunday- 
school  rooms  — stand  towards  one  corner  of  the  site,  sufficiently  removed  from  the 
main  mass  to  mark  their  character  and  to  leave  its  own  outlines  undistnrhed  from 
iiKJst  points  of  view,  hiit  skillfnlly  united  with  its  eastern  end  by  a small  cloister- 
like space  surrounded  by  a covered  A^'alk  which  is  continued  up  the  chapel-huild- 
ing  as  an  external  stair. 

A A'estii)ide  stretches  across  the  entrance  front  and  is  prolonged  to  a breadth  of 
some  ninety-three  feet,  forming  the  lower  story  of  the  western  towers,  which  tliiis 
rise  free  of  the  nave.  But  as  it  stands  this  west  end  is  still  incomplete.  The 
ca])])ings  of  the  towers  were  once  l)uilt,  but  proving  unsatisfactory  were  taken 
down,  and  the  })roposed  deep  porch  has  never  been  begun.  If  towers  and  porch 
were  complete  as  Kichardson  designed  them  before  his  death  the  faults  in  Trin- 
ity’s exterior  would  largely  be  redeemed.  In  a lateral  view  the  nave  lacks  suffi- 
cient dignity,  and  in  a western  view  the  great  tower  and  the  fagadc  come  so  close 
together  as  somewhat  to  confuse  the  eyc.^  From  every  other  point  of  view,  how- 
ever, the  tower  (which  witliout  the  finial  rises  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet)  groups 
beautifully  with  the  lower  masses  — strongly  asserts  itself  as  the  most  important 
feature  of  the  design,  yet  in  such  a way  as  to  dignify  and  not  crush  the  rest. 

The  yellowish-gray  granite  employed  throughout  for  the  rock-faced  ashlar  is 
soft  and  warm  in  tone,  having  much  the  effect  of  a sandstone.  The  trimmings  are 
of  that  red  Longmeadow  sandstone  which  by  its  admirable  texture  and  beautiful 
color  has  done  so  much  for  Boston  buildings.  The  lower  roofs  arc  of  plain  slates, 
the  roof  and  louvre-boards  of  the  tower  of  semi-glazed  red  tiles,  and  the  crockets 
of  red  terra-cotta.  The  pronounced  yet  harmonious  effect  of  color  thus  produced 
is  one  of  Trinity’s  greatest  merits  and  at  the  time  when  it  was  built  seemed  the 
most  l)oldly  novel  of  them  all. 


But  the  Trinity  we  see  to-day  is  a very  different  church  from  the  one  the  build- 
ing-committee chose.  During  the  j^rogress  of  his  work  Richardson  so  recast  it 
that  little  of  his  first  conception  remains  except  the  chief  features  of  the  plan, 
the  general  proportions  of‘  the  limbs  of  the  cross,  and  the  general  treatment  of  the 
chancel  — which  last  wais  not  changed  save  by  a simplification  of  its  windows. 

In  these  windows  the  competition-drawings  shoAV  a more  complex  section  for 
the  arches,  and  lateral  shafts  in  each  light.  In  the  transept-ends  they  sIioav 
a single  great  Avindow  — someAvhat  of  the  same  type  that  had  been  used  in  the 


^ “ vSome  changes  in  the  design  were  made  as  the  work 
went  on,  in  compliance  with  real  or  fancied  necessities  of 
convenience  for  construction,  and  . . . the  modifications 
of  outline  required  by  the  change  in  proportion  of  walls 
and  tower  thus  made  can  hardly  yet  be  considered  as  fully 
carried  out,  so  that  the  actual  building  at  present  lacks, 
perhaps,  the  unity  of  the  original  design  without  attaining 
a new  unity  of  its  own.  Especially  is  this  the  case  with 
regard  to  the  western  towers  ; a lowering  of  the  church 
walls,  made  in  hope  of  affording  an  additional  guarantee 
of  good  acoustic  quality  in  the  building,  which  was  felt  to 
be  a paramount  consideration,  changed  the  proporcion  of 
walls  and  tower  in  a manner  which  should  have  been  coun- 
teracted by  increasing  the  height  of  the  western  front, 


including  the  towers  which  form  a part  of  it,  and  the 
amended  drawings  comprehended  this  alteration  as  an 
aesthetic  necessity,  but  the  increase  of  height  not  being  a 
constructional  necessity,  and  the  additional  cost  being  of 
some  im2)ortance,  the  full  completion  of  the  design  was, 
to  the  regret  of  all  parties,  abandoned  till  some  future 
time.”  — Richardson’s  Description  of  the  Church.  It 
should  be  noted  that  the  interior  as  well  as  the  exterior 
of  Trinity  is  still  incomplete.  Many  details  remained 
unfinished  at  the  time  and  have  never  been  perfected  ; 
and  it  was  Richardson’s  intention  that  the  great  piers 
should  be  cased  in  mosaic  and  not  merely  painted  as  they 
are  to-day. 


y-'j! 


8 Tp-IT” 

)j.T^.  ^ ll.l.  . 

S 

Ri 

1 

tIiIHD 

COMPETITIVE  DESIGN  FOR  TRINITY  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 


■J 


TRINITY  CIIURCIL 


63 


Brattle  Square  Church  — with  two  ranges  of  square  mullioned  and  transomed 
lights  below,  and  above  a very  large  rose  with  geometrical  bar-tracery.  Cer- 
tain minor  features  with  a complexity  of  short  profiles  and  steep  roof-lines  are 
rather  awkwardly  added  to  the  south  face  of  the  southwestern  tower  ; and 
the  mass  which  stands  between  the  south  transept  and  the  chancel  is  lower, 
mnch  less  simple,  dignified,  and  harmonious  than  we  see  it  to-day.  The  fea- 
tures that  adjoin  the  cloister  and  the  chancel  are  also  mnch  less  happily  treated, 
especially  as  regards  their  roofs  ; and  all  the  roofs  are  shaded  in  horizontal  bands 
to  indicate  parti-colored  slating.  Even  the  main  masses  of  the  church  itself 
w ere  not  left  unaltered,  for  in  deference  to  real  or  supposed  acoustic  needs,  the 
height  of  the  nave  was  lessened.  The  chapel-bailding  was  also  consiiicuously 
altered,  while  the  cloister-walk  was  lightened  by  heightening  the  columns  and  sim- 
plified by  substituting  single  for  coupled  shafts.  In  short,  changes  were  worked 
in  every  part  and  feature  of  the  composition,  and  in  every  instance  (except  as 
regards  the  lowering  of  the  nave)  were  very  fortunately  worked,  resulting  in 
greater  simplicity  of  both  conception  and  treatment,  and  in  completer  harmony 
and  unity. 

But  the  greatest  change  and  the  happiest  was  made  in  the  tower,  the  competi- 
tion-drawing for  which  Avonld  never  be  recognized  as  prepared  for  Trinity.  It 
shows  a tower  with  a single  rectangular  stage  pierced  by  three  square  mullioned 
and  transomed  lights  in  either  face,  finished  with  an  open  parapet,  and  flanked  by 
angle-turrets,  three  of  which  are  fluted  and  go  no  higher  than  the  parapet,  while 
the  one  which  holds  the  stair  is  carried  somewhat  higher  and  has  a j^olygonal  cap. 
From  this  stage  rises  a tall  lantern,  much  less  in  diameter  and  octagonal  in  shape, 
with  a range  of  dormers  around  its  base,  a large  round-arched  wdndow  with  lon- 
vre-boards  in  each  face,  then  a range  of  narrow  rectangnlar  lights  with  a central 
column  in  each,  a boldly  projecting  corbeled  cornice  with  large  gargoyles,  and  an 
open  parapet  behind  which  rises  a steep  octagonal  roof  or  low  steeple.  It  is  an 
interesting  tower  in  its  way,  but  shows  neither  conspicuous  beauty  of  feature  nor 
that  vital  nnity  between  all  features  which  would  mark  it  as  a true  architectural 
conception.  And,  together  with  many  minor  features  below,  it  gives  the  build- 
ing a semi-Gothic  air  that  does  not  match  at  all  with  our  present  idea  of  “ Rich- 
ardsonian ” work. 

It  was  always  a pleasure  to  Richardson  to  look  at  these  drawings  — not  because 
he  thought  them  good  but  because  he  thought  the  actual  church  so  much  better. 
After  discussing  them  he  once  exclaimed  : “ I really  don’t  see  why  the  Trinity 
people  liked  them,  or,  if  they  liked  them,  why  they  let  me  do  what  I afterwards 
did.”  Of  course  the  words  were  whimsically  exaggerated,  yet  they  hardly  over- 
emphasize the  difference  between  the  church  as  commissioned  and  the  church 
as  built.  It  seems  little  less  than  marvelous  that  a man  should  have  so  develo2)ed 
while  a single  structure  was  in  progress,  and  the  fact  that  he  did  proves  how  i^er- 
sistent  Richardson  was  in  self-criticism  and  how  oi^en  to  the  teaching  of  new 
insj^irations. 

An  ever  closer  study  of  the  Romanesque  of  southern  France  gave  these  ins})i- 
rations,  and  its  Auvergnese  branch  is  now  clearly  indicated  as  that  which  he  pre- 
ferred. For  exanq^le,  in  Trinity  we  first  find  him  using  that  bold  sinq^le  kind  of 


64 


lIENl^r  HOBSON  EICIIARBSON 


surface  - decoration  wliicli  was  a local  characteristic  of  Auvcrgnese  art  — that 
“ marquetry- work  ” in  unsculihured  stones  which  was  doubtless  a survival  of  the 
more  elaborate  and  sid)tile  mosaic-work  of  Gallo-Roman  days.  Many  decorative 
details  still  show  a mingling  of  later  influences  with  the  Romanesque,  Avhile  in  the 
chapel-building  arched  forms  are  altogether  laid  aside.  In  the  execution  there 
are  also  great  differences  between  part  and  part.  Now  it  is  very  refined,  again 
almost  rude  ; now  it  seems  very  carefully,  again  rather  carelessly  studied.  The 
brain,  we  feel,  was  already  the  brain  of  a master  bnt  the  hand  was  still  somewhat 
immature.  Tlie  church  has  a fcnv  conspicuous  faults  and  many  feeblenesses  in 
detail ; but  as  a Avliole  it  shows,  as  has  well  been  written,  “ a remarkable  union  of 
richness  and  breadth,  a singular  charm  of  color,  and  a noble  dignity.” 

A few  words  more  must  be  gi^  en  to  the  toAver.  In  style  it  harmonizes  with 
the  other  features,  but  its  prototype  is  not  to  be  found  in  Auvergne  or  in  any 
part  of  France.  Richardson’s  first  design  for  the  toAver  had  never  pleased  him  — 
had  seemed,  indeed,  so  far  from  right  that  a fundamentally  iieAV  conception  Avas 
Avhat  he  sought.  None  had  suggested  itself  up  almost  to  the  time  Avhen  the 
builders  Avould  need  definite  instruction.  But  one  day  Avhen  he  Avas  ill  in  bed  he 
Avas  turning  oa  er  some  ])hotographs  Avliich  had  been  sent  him  by  his  friend  La 
Farge  for  the  sake  of  the  help  they  might  afford  in  this  very  problem  ; and  the 
instant  he  saAV  the  toAver  of  the  old  cathednd  at  Salamanca  he  exclaimed,  “ This 
is  Avhat  Ave  Avant.”  The  suggestion  it  gave  came  like  a spark  to  tinder,  and  a neAV 
design  Avas  very  soon  in  shape. 

If  it  is  instructive  to  compare  this  design  Avith  the  competition -draAving,  it  is 
equally  so  to  compare  it  Avith  the  ancient  Avork  Avhich  AA^as  its  acknowledged  inspi- 
ration. We  have  sometimes  been  told  that  Richardson  “ copied  ” Trinity’s  tower 
from  Salamanca’s ; and  the  supposed  fact  that  in  this,  the  first  of  his  great  build- 
ings and  still  the  most  famous  and  most  popular,  he  had  recourse  to  a direct 
jAi’ocess  of  reproduction,  of  imitation,  has  been  cited  in  disproof  of  his  claim  to 
“ originality”  as  an  artist. 

I think  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  explain  that  it  has  never  been  part  of  an  archi- 
tect’s duty  to  try  to  be  original  in  the  absolute  meaning  of  the  term,  or  that  in 
these  late  days  of  art  he  could  not  be  so  even  if  he  tried  his  best.  A process  of 
intelligent  adaptation  is  that  Avhich  he  must  employ,  and  he  has  a clear  title  to  be 
called  original  Avhenever  he  perfectly  fits  old  features  to  iieAv  needs  and  schemes, 
or  so  remoulds  an  old  conception  that  a noAV  conception  is  the  result  — not  an 
effective  piece  of  patch-Avork  but  a fresh  and  vital  entity.  This  last,  when  Ave 
compare  the  tAvo  toAvers,  proves  to  be  what  Richardson  did  Avhen  making  his 
so-called  copy  of  Salamanca. 

The  Salamanca  toAver  has  scarcely  more  than  half  the  diameter  of  Trinity’s  and, 
if  one  may  judge  from  photographs,  is  taller  in  proportion  ; and  it  is  polygonal  on 
plan  in  preparation  for  a vault  of  sixteen  compartments.  Its  upper  and  loAver 
stages  are  more  nearly  of  the  same  height  than  Trinity’s,  and  the  loAver  like  the 
upjAer  bears  a round-arched  arcade.  Its  roof  is  different  — taller  yet  less  steep 
(oAving  to  the  considerable  entasis  that  has  been  given  the  profile),  Avith  the  angle 
faces  less  conspicuously  subordinated  to  the  cardinal  faces,  and  Avith  heavier  crock- 
ets. Its  turrets  are  proportionately  much  larger  than  Trinity’s,  and  all  are  round 


.'(ifistiliin;™ 


GGddDpnn 


jtf  jii_) 


ianiitiiii 


PROPOSED  PORCH  FOR  TRINITY  CHURCH,  BOSTON 


TIUNITY  CHURCH. 


65 


and  pierced  with  rows  of  tall  slender  lights  in  both  stages,  whereas  three  of  Trin- 
ity’s are  round  and  solid  and  conically  caj^ped  while  one  is  round  below  with  stair- 
case slits  and  above  is  polygonal  with  a corresponding  cajD  and  a succession  of  tall 
round-headed  openings.  Richardson’s  gables  are  more  like  their  prototypes  but 
still  are  not  the  same  ; and  even  in  the  second  stage  of  wall-curtain,  where  the 
arcade  recalls  Salamanca  more  nearly  than  do  the  square  windows  of  the  lower 
stage,  we  find  cou2)led  lateral  lights  instead  of  single  ones. 

Nor  is  there  less  originality  in  the  treatment  than  in  the  choice  of  his  motives. 
His  attached  columns  are  differently  groiq^ed,  and  his  introduction  of  shafts  which 
rise  from  the  base  of  the  tower  to  the  string-course  is  a novelty  — and  an  imiDor- 
tant  novelty  as  snj^plying  a flavor  of  vertical  accentuation  which  wholly  lacks  at 
Salamanca.  Moreover,  the  elaborate  mouldings  of  Salamanca  are  nowhere  rej^ro- 
dnced;  the  sinif)le  square  section  used  for  the  arches  in  the  body  of  Trinity  is  re- 
tained for  the  tower  arches  too.  In  short,  not  a single  feature  or  detail  has  been 
bodily  transferred.  Great  as  is  the  fundamental  likeness  between  the  two  towers, 
Richardson  imitated  the  work  that  insjDired  him  in  no  closer  way  than  this  : He 
took  a general  scheme  consisting  of  a massive  two-storied  body,  flanked  by  angle- 
turrets  and  crowned  with  four  gables  and  an  octagonal  roof,  and  then  worked  out 
the  idea  with  entire  indej^endence  alike  in  the  choice  and  in-oportioning  of  his 
features  and  in  their  treatment.  There  is  far  less  likeness  between  Trinity  and 
Salamanca  than  there  is  between  Salamanca  and  its  neighbor  at  Zamora ; yet  no 
historian  says  more  of  these  than  that  in  one  of  them  must  have  been  found  the 
insj:>iration  for  the  other.  How  unjust  is  the  statement  that  Richardson  coj)- 
ied,  shows  very  clearly  if  we  try  to  compare  his  work  with  the  old  and  to  decide 
uiDon  their  relative  degrees  of  excellence.  We  cannot  really  comjDare,  we  can 
only  contrast  them.  We  do  not  feel  that  the  same  ideal  was  twice  conceived  and 
was  attained  with  different  degrees  of  felicity.  We  feel  that  different  ideals  were 
kejDt  in  view.  Each  result  has  unity  and  harmony ; but  the  unity  of  Salamanca 
is  brought  about  by  a general  uniformity  in  features  relieved  by  minor  divergencies 
in  treatment,  and  the  unity  of  Trinity  by  a strong  opj)osition  of  features  skillfully 
worked  into  vital  amalgamation.  Clearness,  definiteness,  is  the  key-note  of  the 
old  scheme ; mystery  — a multifarioiisness  which  true  artistic  feeling  has  made 
concordant  — is  the  key-note  of  the  new.  The  charm  of  Trinity’s  tower  cannot 
in  the  least  be  appreciated  from  a picture  — noble  dignity  of  scale  and  a singu- 
lar beauty  of  color  j^lay  too  large  a role.  When  we  are  in  its  presence,  it  gives 
us  an  ini2:)ression  such  as  modern  work  rarely  j)roduces.  It  is  very  rich  yet  very 
broad,  and  is  entirely  sj^ontaneous  and  living  — distinctly  non-mechanical  or 
labored.  It  looks  as  though  the  man  who  built  it  had  been  born  to  build  in  just 
this  way ; it  looks  like  the  result  of  a genuine  impulse  and  not  of  a lesson  learned 
and  then  rejieated.  In  the  arrangement  and  iDrojDortioning  alike  of  its  forms  and 
of  its  colors  it  has  that  entire  felicity  which  means  an  air  of  organic  growth  — and 
this  is  the  charm  we  most  rarely  find  in  the  cut-and-dried  rigidity  or  the  willful 
yet  laborious  license  of  average  modern  work.  It  does  not  become  tame  and  com- 
monplace on  long  ac([iiaintance,  but  has  that  perennial  freshness  which  always 
marks  those  results,  and  only  those,  that  are  veritably  right  and  vital.  And,  as 
has  been  said,  it  dignifies  and  does  not  suppress  the  remainder  of  the  church.  Its 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICH  ARE  SON 


m 

iKHiiitv  is  greater  than  that  of  any  other  part,  hnt  all  other  parts  are  consonant 
in  feeling  though  less  refined  in  treatment  — showing  more  immaturity  of  thought 
and  hand  and  giving  less  evidence  of  thorough  study. 

The  most  serious  charge  that  has  been  hroiight  against  this  tower  relates  to 
truthfulness  of  expression  — not  to  that  mere  heaiity  of  effect  which  we  have 
thus  far  considered.  Salamanca’s  tower,  it  has  been  said,  covers  a dome  and  is 
excpdsitely  truthful  in  design.  Trinity’s  covers  a flat  ceiling,  and,  therefore,  Ilich- 
ardson’s  borrowing  of  Salamanca’s  form  was  a lapse  from  that  clear  expression  of 
structure  which  is  counted  chief  among  architectural  virtues. 

There  may  he  a measure  of  justice  in  the  charge.  And  yet  it  is  perhaps  open 
to  cpiestion  whether  the  toAver  Avould  seem  at  all  untriithfiil  to  an  observer  Avho 
had  not  Salamanca  in  his  mind,  Avho  judged  it  by  its  OAvn  expression  only.  Of 
course  in  the  earlier  structure  the  turrets  and  gables  serve  as  counterpoises  to  the 
thrust  of  the  vaidt.  But  the  alteration  of  the  plan  and  the  lessened  size  of  the 
turrets  alike  weaken  testimony  as  to  the  existence  of  a vault  in  Trinity,  as  do 
the  sharper  outline  of  the  roof  and  the  different  proportioning  of  its  faces,  and 
the  treatment  of  the  upper  arcade  Avith  its  louvre-hoards.  Examining  this  toAver 
in  and  for  itself,  I think  one  might  perceive  the  exact  truth,  — that  a flat  ceiling 
comes  at  the  level  of  the  strongly  emphasized  string-course,  above  the  glazed, 
heloAV  the  boarded  AvindoAvs  ; and  might  find  the  turrets  none  too  massive  for  the 
mere  supporting  to  the  eye  of  Avails  pierced  by  such  a continuity  of  openings. 

Richardson  felt,  of  course,  that  the  jAorch  of  Trinity  ought  to  be  its  most  beau- 
tifid  and  elaborate  feature  — that  here  should  be  concentrated  a Avealth  of  deco- 
ration Avhich  Avould  make  a harmonious  contrast  Avith  the  masculine  severity  of 
the  adjacent  Avails,  lie  never  seemed  to  regret  that  he  had  not  built  it  at  the 
same  time  that  he  l)uilt  the  rest,  knoAving  that  with  each  subsequent  year  he  had 
groAvn  in  poAver  and  skill,  especially  as  regarded  the  management  of  ornamental 
motives.  But  it  Avas  one  of  his  most  eager  hopes  that  he  might  some  day  be  per- 
nntted  to  construct  it.  Ideas  for  it  Avere  ahvays  being  turned  over  in  his  mind  ; 
more  than  once  they  Avere  put  on  paper  ; and  after  his  return  from  Europe  a de- 
sign Avas  made,  so  carefid,  clear,  and  beautiful  that  one  must  hope  soon  to  see  it 
executed.  It  is  based  upon  the  design  of  that  Avonderful  porch  of  St.  Trophime 
at  Arles,  his  profound  admiration  for  Avhich  has  been  referred  to  in  a previous 
chapter,  and  shoAvs  a porch  Avhicli  Avould  extend  across  the  Avhole  breadth  of  the 
fagade  and  be  some  thirty  feet  in  depth.  Its  multitudinous  details  Avould  still  have 
received  long  and  patient  study  had  Richardson’s  life  been  spared ; but  its  lines 
and  masses,  great  and  small,  are  all  in.  place,  and  as  a general  scheme  he  often  de- 
clared it  the  final  solution  of  the  problem  he  had  so  long  been  considering.  The 
architectural  body  is  conceiAX'd  so  that  another  hand  may  easily  hnild  it ; and  the 
decorative  integument  is  sufficiently  Avell  indicated  for  a hand  trained  in  Rich- 
ardson’s school  to  develop  it  in  accordance  with  his  intent.^ 

^ In  Appendix  IV.  will  be  found  some  additional  extracts  from  Richardson’s  description  of  bis  church  which  give 
an  insight  into  the  constructive  methods  he  enmloycd. 


Vi 

1 . 


I 


■'  <1 


CHAPTER  XI. 


WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 

The  Cheney  Building  in  Hartford 
was  the  first,  with  the  exception  of  a 
single  dwclling-honse,  that  Richardson 


1875.  It  is  a large  commercial  struc- 
ture, built  throughout  of  Longmeadow 
sandstone,  which  has  variously  arcaded 
stories,  angle  pavilions,  only  one  of 
which  rises  above  the  cornice  line,  and 
much  richness  of  detail.  The  scheme 
is  conceived  with  less  individuality  than  later  schemes  of  a similar  kind,  and  is 
rather  awkwardly  managed  as  regards  one  or  two  minor  features.  Yet  it  is  a 
scheme  which  we  instinctively  judge  as  a whole  and  find  vigorous,  vital,  and  im- 
posing ; and  in  general  its  treatment  is  so  skillful  that  we  are  tempted  to  forget 
how  entirely  novel  at  that  time  was  the  effort  to  adapt  such  a design  to  such  a 
purpose. 

We  are  likewise  impelled  to  judge  the  Winn  Memorial  Library  at  Woburn,  near 
Boston,  commissioned  in  competition  in  March,  1877,  by  contrast  not  Avith  the 
contemporary  efforts  of  other  hands,  hut  with  Richardson’s  own  later  Avorks.  The 
first  of  those  public  libraries  for  small  toAvns  Avhich  are  so  conspicuous  among  his 
best  products,  it  is  one  of  the  largest  and  most  complex,  and  is  the  most  elaborate 
and  picturesque.  Its  total  length  is  one  hundred  and  sixty-three  feet.  The  main 
portion  contains  the  reading-room  and  hook-room  Avith  subordinate  apartments 
above,  and  a picture  gallery ; the  octagon  is  an  art-mnseum. 

The  first  impression  the  building  produces  is  very  poAverful  and  delightful,  and 
its  florid  picturesqueness  has  made  it  very  popular  Avith  uncritical  observers.  But 
it  can  hardly  be  called  so  mature  a Avork  as  even  the  Cheney  Building.  The  octa- 
gon, though  thoroughly  pleasing  in  itself,  does  not  group  Avell  Avith  the  gable,  and 
is  so  separated  from  the  library  proper  that  the  effect  is  of  tAvo  buildings  in  con- 
tact rather  than  of  one  building  of  tAVO  parts.  In  the  main  portion  the  grouping 
lacks  simplicity  and  breadth  ; there  is  no  dominant  centre  of  interest,  and  the  rela- 
tionship betAveen  feature  and  feature  seems  fortuitous,  not  inevitable.  The  portal 
is  not  satisfactory  and  is  hardly  important  enongh  to  suit  the  character  of  the 
building,  Avhile  the  toAver  is  too  important  and  is  not  very  felicitous  on  plan.  And 
a simpler  general  scheme  Avould  have  been  more  ap])roj)riate  at  Woburn.  The 


designed  after  Trinity  Church  had  been 
begun.  It  Avas  commissioned  three 
years  later  than  Trinity,  in  September, 


A GLIMPSE  OF  NORTH  EASTON, 


68 


mJNHY  HOBSON  EICHAIWSON. 


intense  surprise  one  feels  on  first  coining  upon  this  library  through  the  wide, 
(piiet,  grass-hordered  streets  and  among  the  wooden  houses  of  a small  New  Eng- 
land town  is  in  part  a measure  of  its  beauty,  hut  in  part  a measure  of  its  unfitness 
to  its  place.  With  all  its  faults  it  is  a superb  building  — a strong,  fresh,  and 

spontaneous  if  not  a thoroughly  or- 
ganic composition,  delightfully  elabo- 
rated in  many  of  its  parts.  But  when 
a building  is  superb  in  such  a way 
that  one’s  first  thought  is.  What  a 
pity  it  stands  here,  it  is  robbed  of  half 
its  claim,  not  to  admiration,  perhaps, 
but  to  approbation. 

One  experiment,  howeyer,  was 
enough  to  show  iliehardson  his  mis- 
take. In  the  North  Easton  library, 
which  was  commissioned  only  six 
months  later,  the  design  is  much  sim- 
pler, soberer,  and  more  organic.  Ex- 
cept that  there  is  no  octagon,  the 
main  features  are  the  same,  but  their 
grouping  is  vastly  better.  The  en- 
trance has  due  dignity,  and  its  union 
with  the  gable  gives  a true  centre  of 
interest.  The  tower  is  in  good  pro- 
jiortion  with  the  lower  masses  and 
is  well  connected  with  them.  The 
roof  is  admirably  broad  and  simple. 
Richness  is  not  excessive  and  is  ar- 
tistically concentrated  upon  a few 
features  supported  by  dignified  and 
quiet  fields  of  wall. 

The  somewhat  crude  and  over-bold 
treatment  of  wall  - surfaces  which 

PROPOSED  ADDITION  TO  CHENEY  BUILDING,  HARTFORD.l  marked  much  of  Richardson’s  early 

work  had  by  this  time  disappeared. 
But  he  had  not  degenerated  into  technical  feebleness  or  monotony.  An  interest- 
ing surface,  and  one  of  a kind  to  suit  the  character  of  the  special  building  he  had 
in  hand,  Avas  ahvays  a chief  concern  •Avith  him.  Scale  Avas  carefidly  considered  in 
regulating  the  average  size  of  the  stones,  and  they  Avere  varied  among  themselves 
in  size  and  shape  Avith  a keen  feeling  for  that  degree  of  difference  Avhich  should 
mean  animation  without  restlessness,  breadth  combined  Avith  vitality.  The  Avork 
of  the  mason  Avas  as  important  in  Richardson’s  eyes  as  the  Avork  of  the  sculptor ; 
and  many  a piece  of  plain  Avail  Avas  pulled  down  by  his  orders  and  rebuilt  because 


^ As  this  addition  to  the  Cheney  Building  was  to  have  structure  ; and  the  illustration  in  no  way  suggests  the  char- 
been  constructed  of  brick,  a wholly  different  and  much  acter  of  this.  The  management  of  the  large  shop-window 

more  elaborate  treatment  was  adopted  than  in  the  main  is  the  most  noteworthy  point  in  the  proposed  work. 


' ^ 1 

■r  ^ 

af  !■  '1-^  .:J  1 
W|''*B  l.^vJ  . *3  / 

llw 

’3  ■ , 

DOORWAY  OF  LIBRARY,  NORTH  EASTON. 


- ,y 


a 


c 


/ 


WOPiKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


69 


the  desired  effect  had  in  some  particular  been  missed.  The  result  justified  and 
more  than  justified  his  care,  though  perhaps  few  observers  pause  to  appreciate 
how  much  it  contributes  to  the  general  result  which  they  admire. 

The  interior  of  the  library,  including  the  barrel-vault  which  covers  the  long 
stack-room,  is  finished  in  butternut,  with  delicate  carved  and  turned  decoration. 
Neither  inside  nor  out  is  the  building  one  of  Richardson’s  very  best;  yet  it  ap- 
proaches the  best  in  excellence,  and  its  entrance-porch  is  one  of  the  most  charac- 
teristic he  designed. 


PLAN  OF  LIBRARY,  WOBURN. 


Sever  Hall,  commissioned  in  October,  1878,  was  the  first  work  Richardson 
undertook  after  his  partnership  with  Mr.  Gambrill  had  been  dissolved.  It  meas- 
ures about  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  feet  by  seventy-five  feet,  and  its  interior 
is  divided  into  j)lainly  finished  class-rooms  and  recitation-rooms.  It  stands  in  the 
college  Yard  amid  many  neighboring  buildings,  but  is  sufficiently  removed  from 
them  to  be  well  seen,  and  is  shaded  by  large  trees.  It  is  built  of  red  brick,  with 
a sparing  use  of  Longmeadow  stone  in  the  foundations  and  trimmings.  The  roof 
is  of  red  tiles,  and  the  ornamentation  is  not  moulded  in  terra-cotta  but  carved  in 
brick  — an  expedient  which  secures,  of  course,  much  greater  sharpness  and  vital- 
ity of  effect. 

Sever  Hall  was  designed  at  the  period  when  Richardson  had  just  given  himself 
over,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  leadings  of  southern  Romanesque  art,  and  when  the 
exuberant  possibilities  of  this  art  had  recently  seduced  him  somewhat  from  so- 
briety. Therefore  its  singular  simplicity  and  its  paucity  of  pronounced  Roman- 
esque features  bear  strong  witness  to  the  development  of  his  feeling  for  appropri- 
ateness as  a prime  architectural  virtue.  Many  of  the  college-buildings  — and 
those  which  both  age  and  excellence  most  commended  to  his  respect  — were  plain 
rectangular  structures  of  red  brick,  designed  in  that  genuine  Georgian  style  which 
is  so  different  from  the  pseudo-Georgian  of  Queen  Victoria’s  reign.  In  later  years 
certain  showy,  would-be  Gothic  buildings  had  forced  themselves  into  this  sober 
company.  Richardson  was  wise  enough  not  to  disturb  it  further  by  erecting  an 
unsymnietrical,  “ romantic,”  Romanesque  structure,  massive  in  feature  and  elab- 
orate in  detail.  Sever  Hall  does  not  imitate  the  old  halls,  } et  it  is  not  so  out  of 


70 


HENFiY  HOBSON  RICHAFDSON 


keeping  with  them  as  to  seem  discordant.  It  is  much  stronger  and  more  beautiful 
than  they  are,  yet  it  does  not  crush  them  by  its  iDresencc.  As  is  the  case  with 
Trinity  Church,  size  and  color  play  so  large  a part  in  the  impression  it  makes  that 
no  picture  can  reproduce  its  charm.  But  even  a picture  can  show  the  beauty  of 
its  simple,  imposing  outlines,  ol  its  organic  massing  and  of  the  arrangement  — 
neither  monotonous  nor  restless  — of  its  many  small  openings,  and  the  rich 
effect  produced  with  so  little  idd  from  decoration.  The  doorway  is  not  too  much 
emphasized  to  suit  the  character  of  the  building,  but  is  made  finely  effective  by 


LIBRARY,  NORTH  EASTON. 


the  great  roll-mouldings  formed  of  bricks  separately  cast  for  the  purpose.  The 
roof  and  chimneys  are  superb ; and  the  end  with  its  united  yet  varied  ranges  of 
windoAvs  is  an  epitome  of  architectural  excellence. 

The  Avails  of  Sever  Hall  are  very  beautiful  in  color  — a soft,  deep  red  tending 
toAvards  crimson.  The  bright  red  of  the  tiles  contrasts  Avell  Avith  them ; the 
slightly  different  tone  of  the  carvings  adds  another  touch  of  variety ; and  the 
stone  trimmings  sufficiently  relieve  the  general  redness  without  being  too  con- 
spicuous. The  treatment  of  the  brick- Avork  is  as  Avorthy  of  notice  as  Bichard- 
son’s  treatment  of  stone  surfaces.  The  use  of  Avell-made  common  eastern  brick 
instead  of  pressed-brick,  and  the  bonding  Avith  six  successive  courses  of  “ stretch- 
ers ” to  one  of  “ headers,”  produce,  in  place  of  the  usual  hard  mechanical  surffice, 
a melloAV,  gently  accented,  and  vital  surface,  interesting  and  delightful  to  the  eye. 

It  is  impossible,  I think,  to  pick  a fault  in  Sever  Hall  unless  it  be  with  one 
detail  of  decoration,  — the  carved  band  beneath  the  cornice  is  a little  “ sjAotty  ” 
oAving  to  the  Avide  spacing  of  its  panels.  Other Avise  every  feature  is  admirable  in 
itself  and  admirably  fitted  to  its  place,  and  they  all  AVork  together  to  produce  a 
building  Avhich  is  as  true  and  organic  a conception  as  any  ever  built.  It  has  some- 
thing even  higher  than  unity  to  recommend  it ; it  has  that  noblest  architectural 


•■i 


TOWN  HALL,  NORTH  EASTON. 


k 


WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


71 


quality  we  call  style.  And  if  its  style  is  individual  — if  it  is  not  one  which  can 
readily  be  fitted  with  a historic  name  — it  is  not  on  that  account  less  genuine 
or  less  beautiful.  Richardson  afterwards  built  structures  which  showed  his  im- 
aginative, creative  power  in  a still  more  convincing  light  — in  designing  which 
he  was  compelled  to  deal  with  more  difficult  and  novel  j:)roblems.  But  he  never 
built  one  wherein  the  given  j^roblem  was  more  perfectly  solved,  or  one  for  which 
we  may  more  confidently  claim  the  approving  voice  of  all  observers.  The  excel- 
lence and  beauty  of  Sever  Hall  are  so  striking  yet  so  serious,  sensible,  uneccentric, 
and  appropriate,  that  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  any  critic,  however  opposed  to 
Richardson’s  ideas  and  methods  as  shown  in  other  works,  who  should  deny  to 
this  one  a place  among  the  most  perfect  creations  of  modern  architecture. 

A Town  Hall  for  North  Easton  was  commissioned  about  a year  and  a half  later 
than  the  hbrary  which  has  been  described  above.  Both  were  erected  by  the 
Ames  family  for  public  use  and  as  memorials,  respectively,  of  Oliver  and  Oakes 
Ames.  They  stand  near  together  on  a rocky  site  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village. 
The  library  is  of  a warm-toned  local  granite  with  trimmings  of  Longmeadow 
stone.  The  hall,  which  measures  ninety-seven  feet  by  fifty-one  feet,  and  seventy- 
four  feet  to  the  toj:)  of  the  tower,  is  built  of  the  same  materials  in  the  lower  story 
and  above  is  of  red  brick  with  a wooden  half-story  at  one  end.  In  both  buildings 
the  main  roofs  are  of  red  tiles  and  the  tower  roofs  of  stone. 

The  site  would  have  been  called  a difficult  one  by  an  architect  enamored  of  the 
commonplace.  But  Richardson  was  too  distinctly  “ a romantic  ” by  birth  not  to 
be  strongly  attracted  by  those  natural  diversities  of  surface  which,  if  rightly  used, 
mean  architectural  individuality  as  well  as  pictorial  charm  in  the  result ; and  with 
the  aid  of  Mr.  Frederick  Law  Olmsted  he  utilized  their  possibilities  to  the  full. 
A fine  retaining-wall  runs  along  the  street,  and  beyond  it  the  ground  rises  in 
abrupt  and  broken  stretches.  The  hall,  which  stands  much  higher  than  the 
library,  is  approached  by  successive  j^latforms  and  short  flights  of  steps,  kept 
duly  inconspicuous  and  artistically  adapted  to  the  inequalities  of  the  rocky  sur- 
face. A balustraded  wall  to  connect  the  two  structures  was  contemplated  from 
the  first  but  unfortunately  has  not  yet  been  built.  Nothing  could  be  better  than 
the  way  in  which  each  building  stands.  The  slighter  swells  and  depressions  of  the 
ground  beneath  the  library  have  been  as  carefully  respected  as  the  bold  rocks 
that  support  the  hall.  Nature  has  been  made  to  help  the  work  of  the  architect 
in  the  only  way  which  can  effect  a union  fertile  in  true  beauty.  Her  scheme  has 
been  accepted  as  the  foundation  for  his,  and  all  her  suggestions  have  been  empha- 
sized yet  harmonized  by  his  treatment.  The  manner  in  which  the  tower  of  the 
hall  rises  out  of  the  rock,  almost  like  a natural  development,  is  the  finest  feature 
of  the  building. 

If  we  compare  the  loggia  of  this  hall  with  that  of  the  Springfield  Court-house 
we  see  how  great  a change  had  come  over  Richardson’s  art  within  the  space  of 
eight  years.  The  arches  of  the  hall  are  not  quite  fortunate  in  shape,  and  in  decid- 
ing upon  the  proportions  of  the  columns  Richardson  certainly  pushed  to  a far 
extreme  the  mediaeval  belief  that  no  rule  but  individual  i)rcfercnce  in  an  individ- 
ual case  need  determine  the  relative  height  and  diameter  of  a shaft.  But  the 


IIENliY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


72 

arcade  has  a grand  eftect,  liowcYcr  iinscholarly  it  may  be  ; and  it  grandly  ex- 
presses its  function  as  bearing  the  weight  of  the  building  upon  its  shoulders. 
Here,  as  is  not  the  case  in  Springfield,  there  is  vital  rclationshiiD  and  dignified 
accord  between  loggia  and  steps.  This  loggia  is  a true  conception,  not  an  experi- 
mental device,  and  it  is  treated  in  a way  which  is  truly  characteristic  of  its  builder 
though  not  representative  of  his  highest  power. 

The  Ames  monument  at  Sherman,  Wyoming  Territory,  is  a granite  pyramid 
which  hears  on  two  of  its  faces  medallions  of  heroic  size,  executed  by  St.  Gaiidens, 
representing  Oliver  and  Oakes  Ames.  It  stands  at  the  summit  of  the  pass 
through  the  Rocky  Mountains  at  a little  distance  from  the  line  of  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad  which  the  brothers  built  and  which  was  the  first  to  cross  the  con- 
tinent. Mr.  Olmsted  writes  of  it  : — 

“ I never  saw  a monument  so  well  befitting  its  situation  or  a situation  so  well 
befitting  the  special  character  of  a particular  monument.  It  is  not  often  seen, 
apparently,  except  from  a considerable  distance,  being  on  the  peak  of  a great  hill 
among  great  hills  with  a shanty  village  on  the  slope  near  which  the  train  passes. 
A fellow-passenger  told  me  that  he  had  several  times  passed  it  before  that  and  it 
had  caught  his  eye  from  a distance  but  had  seemed  to  him  a natural  object. 
Within  a few  miles  there  are  several  conical  horns  of  the  same  granite  projecting 
above  the  smooth  surface  of  the  hills.  It  is  a most  tempestuous  place,  and  at  times 
the  monument  is  under  a hot  fire  of  little  missiles  driven  by  the  wind.  But  I 
think  they  will  only  improve  it.”  There  is  no  law,  it  seems,  so  binding  but  that 
it  may  permit  exceptions  ; even  the  imitation  of  a work  of  nature  may  occasion- 
ally produce  a good  result  in  art. 

The  Boston  Park  Commission  employed  Richardson  in  April,  1880,  to  design  a 
bridge  for  the  new  Back  Bay  Basin  — a chain  of  tide-flooded  ponds  with  wide 
borders  of  grass  and  shrubbery.  The  bridge  carries  a broad  road  which  will 
eventually  be  a closely-built  street,  and  is  simply  utilitarian  in  character.  But 
the  fine  curve  of  the  single  great  round  arch  and  the  charming  color  of  the  pud- 
ding-stone make  it  a thing  of  beauty  as  well  as  of  very  evident  strength  and 
serviceahleness. 


SKETCH  FOR  A TOWN  HALL  FOR  BROOKLINE. 


SOUTH  FRONT  OF  THE  CAPITOL,  ALBANY. 


/ 


,lj.' 


c 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  ALBANY  CAPITOL. 

Richardson’s  commission  to  work  on  the  New  York  State  Capitol  at  Albany 
placed  him  for  the  only  time  in  his  life  publicly  in  opposition  to  other  members  of 
his  profession.  The  story  is  a very  comjDlicated  one,  involving  questions  of  state 
finance  and  party  politics  and  professional  etiquette  as  well  as  questions  of  art. 
Only  its  main  incidents  can  be  noted  here,  but  a prefatory  word  must  be  said  about 
the  way  in  which  the  undertaking  Avas  managed. 

From  the  day  when  the  foundations  of  the  Capitol  Avere  laid  until  this,  charges 
of  reckless  extraA^agance  and  scandalous  Avaste  in  the  management  of  the  Avork 
have  been  incessantly  made  by  politicians  opposed  to  those  for  the  time  being 
in  poAver,  and  all  persons  holding  any  position  of  res]Donsibility  in  connection  Avith 
the  building  have  been  held  up  to  public  odium  as  faithless  jAuhlic  servants.  As 
far  as  the  architects  are  concerned  it  should  be  better  knoAvn  than  it  seems  to  be 
that,  in  accordance  Avith  a most  unfortunate  system  of  administration,  they  were 
not  emjDloyed  to  superintend  the  Avork  but  merely  to  give  counsel  in  architectural 
questions  and  to  prepare  plans  for  others  to  carry  out.  They  had  no  responsibil- 
ity for  those  parts  of  the  undertaking  in  Avhich,  if  anyAvhere,  public  money  Avas 
likely  to  be  misused.  They  determined  neither  the  rates  of  Avages  and  salaries, 
nor  Avho  should  receive  them,  nor  the  length  of  a day’s  Avork.  The  organization 
and  discijiline  of  the  great  force  employed,  the  purchase  of  materials,  the  making 
of  contracts,  the  keeping  of  accounts,  — all  these  matters  Avere  in  other  hands,  and 
their  oAvn  pay  Avas  received  month  by  month  as  a stated  salary,  not  as  a commis- 
sion on  the  cost  of  the  Avork.  In  repeated  legislative  investigations  nothing  calcu- 
lated to  throAV  a suspicion  upon  the  integrity  or  conscientiousness  of  any  architect 
Avho  had  been  employed  on  the  building  Avas  discovered.  The  Capitol  cost  enor- 
mous sums  both  before  and  after  Messrs.  Eidlitz,  Richardson,  and  Olmsted  took  it 
in  hand.  But  the  Avay  in  Avhich  it  had  been  begun  precluded  the  possibility  of 
really  economical  treatment  on  their  part,  and  though  some  persons  may  think 
that  they  ought  nevertheless  to  have  made  their  Avork  less  costly  than  they  did, 
the  question  is  one  Avhich  involves  merely  their  good  sense  and  good  taste  as 
artists,  not  their  good  faith  as  public  servants. 

The  iieAv  Capitol  had  been  begun  in  1868  Avith  the  understanding  that  it  Avas 
not  to  cost  more  than  four  million  dollars.^  When  the  Legislature  met  in  1875  it 
had  cost  five  millions,  and  Avas  very  far  from  complete  even  up  to  the  floor  of  the 
third  story  — the  highest  point  to  Avhich  the  Avails  had  been  carried.  At  least 
seven  millions  more  Avere  declared  needful  to  complete  it  in  accordance  Avith  the 

^ The  materials  for  this  summary  have  been  gathered  from  the  newspapers  of  the  time  and  the  published  reports  of 
proceedings  in  the  New  York  Legislature, 


HENRY  llOBSOE^  RICIIARBSON 


U 


designs  of  the  arcliiteet  in  charge,  and  it  was  apparent  to  the  most  superficial 
oiiserver  that  these  designs  were  proving  iinsatisfaetory  in  almost  every  practical 
respect.  The  Legislature  therefore  a])pointcd  a iicav  Commission,  with  Lieuten- 
ant-Governor Dorsheinier  as  its  chairman,  to  inquire  into  the  prospects  of  the 
work,  and  resolved  to  grant  no  more  money  except  upon  its  recommendation. 
This  Commission  appointed  Messrs.  Eidlitz,  Richardson,  and  Olmsted  as  its  Advi- 
sory Board  of  Architects.^  Early  in  1878  a detailed  report  based  iq)on  a careful 
examination  of  the  huilding  itself  and  of  the  architect’s  drawings  was  suhmitted 
by  the  Board  to  the  Commission  and  by  the  Commission  to  the  Senate. 

This  report  ex])lained  that  tlie  existing  work  had  in  general  been  avcTI  done  and 
that  the  foundations  and  hasement  of  the  biulding,  contrary  to  pul)lic  belief,  were 
of  “ vast  strength.”  It  declared  the  scheme  to  l)e  full  of  grave  practical  defects, 
explaining  them  in  a lucid  way  and  adding  that  most  of  them  could  not  he  reme- 
died without  rebuilding  the  entire  structure  iq)on  a radically  different  ground- 
])lan.  The  fact  that  the  legislative  chamhers  had  been  relegated  to  the  third 
story  was  named  as  the  most  conspicuous  mistake,  while  among  the  others  were 
dark  corridors,  rooms  now  too  small  for  their  purpose  and  now  too  large,  insuf- 
ficient light,  undignified  stairways,  and  inconvenient  approaches  to  the  chief 
apartments.  The  more  purely  artistic  aspect  of  the  scheme  was  then  discussed 
at  length.  The  verdict  was  again  severe  but  again  clear  reasons  for  the  severity 
were  given. 

With  this  report  the  Board  of  Architects  submitted,  by  request,  sketches  to 
show  how  in  their  opinion  the  design  might  be  altered  for  the  better.  Also  by 
request  they  soon  afterwards  submitted  full  drawings,  based  on  these  sketches, 
for  comparison  with  those  of  the  architect  in  charge,  accom])anied  by  estimates 
and  by  tenders  from  responsible  contractors  to  show  how  money  might  be  saved 
by  the  change.^ 

As  soon  as  the  existence  and  character  of  these  designs  were  known  a storm  of 
opposition  broke.  No  one  questioned  that  the  Capitol  scheme  had  been  in  a 
deplorable  condition  or  doubted  the  justice  of  the  special  criticisms  made  by  the 
Advisory  Board.  But  some  professional  voices  asserted  that  the  architect  in 
charge  ought  first  to  have  been  asked  to  suggest  possible  improvements,  and  con- 
demned the  Board  for  having  submitted  such  elaborate  drawings  even  at  the  Com- 
mission’s direct  request ; and  many  cried  out  with  emphasis  against  the  character 
of  these  designs.  The  building  had  been  begun  in  a Roman  Renaissance  style. 
Messrs.  Eidlitz  and  Richardson  proposed  to  complete  it  in  a Romanesque  style. 
The  intrinsic  merits  of  the  two  designs  were  but  little  discussed.  Almost  all  the 
protests  were  chiefly  inspired,  and, many  of  them  were  wholly  insj^ired,  by  indig- 
nation at  the  thought  of  seeing  in  a single  building  a union  of  two  different  styles. 
The  newsi)apers  of  the  entire  State  soon  joined  in  the  battle.  Most  of  them  took 


^ Mr.  Olmsted,  although  not  an  architect,  was  associated 
in  this  Board  upon  equal  terms  with  the  two  architects  be- 
cause of  his  practical  familiarity  with  their  art  and  his 
long  experience  with  large  public  undertakings. 

^ Volumes  i.  and  ii.  of  The  American  Architect  and 
Building  News  contain  a condensation  of  this  report,  a 
discussion  of  the  original  design,  reproductions  both  of  this 


design  and  of  the  one  submitted  by  the  Board,  and  many 
letters  referring  to  the  various  questions  at  issue,  including 
one  from  the  architect  in  charge.  This  letter  states  that 
the  Legislature  was  itself  responsible  for  tlie  chief  faults 
in  liis  building,  having  pi'escribed  the  position  of  the  legis- 
lative chambers  and  having  constantly  interfered  in  his 
later  work. 


INTERIOR  OF  SENATE  CHAMBER,  CAPITOL,  ALBANY. 


I 'S 


1 

s 


' ■■ill 


V 


• t 


FIRE-PLACE  IN  COURT  OF  APPEALS  ROOM,  CAPITOL,  ALBANY 


-'.•I 


1 


s 


V j < iy  A.o 


THE  ALBANY  CAPITOL. 


75 


the  2^art  of  the  Board,  translating  a j)iiblic  sentiment  which  cared  little  for  ab- 
stract questions  of  style,  much  for  the  chance  that  in  some  ways  at  least  the  Caj> 
itol  would  iDrofit  by  a change  of  architects.  The  chief  jn-ofessional  journal  of  the 
country  tried  to  preserve  a safe  neutrality.  No  j^rotests  changed  the  attitude  of 
the  Board  ; and  none  disturbed  llichardson’s  jjeace  of  mind  until  in  March,  1876,  a 
formal  remonstrance  was  addressed  to  the  Senate  by  the  New  York  Chapter  of  the 
American  Institute  of  Architects.  Being  himself  a member  of  this  Chapter,  he 
thought  it  should  have  given  him  a hearing  before  it  iDublicly  condemned  his 
course  ; and  he  also  felt  aggrieved  by  what  he  considered  the  discourteous  tone  of 
the  document.  A draft  of  a reply  exists  among  his  papers,  together  with  a num- 
ber of  letters  from  well-known  architects  and  professors  of  art  dei^loring  the  action 
of  the  Chaf)ter  and  the  similar  action  of  other  Chaj^ters  Avhicli  had  less  right  to 
interfere  in  the  matter.  But  Richardson  decided  not  to  2)ublish  any  rei)ly,  feel- 
ing that  the  j^ublic  was  with  him  and  that  a good  jjart  of  the  j)rofession  was  not 
against  him,  and  believing  that  works,  not  words,  are  the  best  arguments  for  an 
artist’s  use. 

By  order  of  the  Commission  work  upon  the  Caj^itol  was  resumed  in  accordance 
with  the  new  designs.  In  March,  1877,  however,  the  outcry  against  them  was 
still  so  strong  that  a council  of  five  New  York  architects  was  summoned  before 
the  Committees  of  Ways  and  Means  and  of  Finance  to  testify  “ as  exjierts  as  to 
the  i^roiDriety  of  the  changes  made  in  the  }:)lans  of  the  architect  for  the  State  Caj)- 
itol  building  by  the  Advisory  Board.”  Their  report  was  again  a decided  condem- 
nation of  these  changes  and  again  was  not  very  courteous  in  tone,  charging  that 
the  course  of  the  Board  in  substituting  another  style  amounted  to  a confession 
that  its  members  felt  incompetent  to  manage  the  style  first  selected.  The  mat- 
ter was  referred  for  decision  to  the  Finance  Committee.  By  a majority  report, 
against  which  a minority  rcqiort  protested,  it  was  declared  that  it  had  not  been 
“ intended  or  exjDected  by  the  Legislature  . . . that  the  style  of  architecture 
should  be  materially  changed,”  and  that  the  Board’s  joroject  was  “ radically  delec- 
tive  not  only  in  design  but  in  the  treatment  of  the  material  used  — granite.” 
The  Legislature  thereiqDon  voted  one  million  dollars  to  carry  on  the  work,  sid^ject 
to  the  condition  that  the  first  scheme  should  again  be  adopted.  Governor  Rol)- 
inson  vetoed  the  bill,  j:)robal)ly  because  of  this  condition.  Both  houses  then  j^assed 
over  the  veto  an  appropriation  of  five  hundred  thousand  dollars,  but  without  mak- 
ing any  reference  to  the  question  of  style  ; and  in  June  the  Capitol  Commission 
instructed  the  Board  to  ju’oceed  with  its  work. 

The  Board  was  collectiv  ely  resj^onsible  before  the  public  for  all  ])arts  of  the 
work ; but  in  execution  Richardson  and  Mr.  Eidlitz  divided  it  betu  een  them. 
The  former  took  charge  of  the  exterior  and  of  the  interior  of  the  south  side,  which 
contains  the  senate  chamber  ; and  the  latter  of  the  interior  of  the  nortli  side,  v ith 
the  assembly  chamber,  and  of  the  great  tower  which  has  not  yet  been  built.  Only 
Richardson’s  portion  of  the  work  can  be  considered  here.  The  illustration  shows 
his  treatment  of  the  exterior  with  sufficient  clearness.  In  the  two  stories  below 
the  roof  a pure  form  of  Romanesv^ue  has  been  adhered  to,  though  with  many  vari- 
ations from  the  first  design.  After  these  stories  had  been  built  on  the  north  side, 
the  Legislature  again  decreed  a return  to  a Renaissance  style.  It  was  j)lainly  ini- 


7(3 


TIENBY  HOBSON  RICHAIWSON 


possible  to  return  to  that  employed  in  the  lower  stories,  so  Richardson  did  what 
he  could  to  obey  orders  by  designing  his  roof  and  dormers  in  an  Eaiiy-Renaissance, 
“ free  classic,”  manner  more  in  harmony  with  his  own  arcades.  The  north  and 
south  front  are  similar  in  scheme,  l)ut  differ  in  the  proportioning  of  their  fea- 
tures, as  Richardson  thought  the  one  first  completed  someAvliat  Aveak  in  effect. 

If  the  building  as  it  stands  is  comi)ared  Avith  the  original  design  no  one  can  noAv 
deny  that  the  State  Avas  fortunate  in  its  second  choice  of  architects.  Although  its 
lack  of  unity  prevents  it  from  taking  rank  Avith  the  most  successful  buildings  in 
the  country,  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  impressive.  Considered  in  them- 
selves, its  upper  portions  — desjAite  the  discrepancies  in  style  Avhich  even  there 
occur  — are  beautiful  in  composition  as  aa  ell  as  in  detail.  Architectural  order 
has  been  brought  out  of  the  chaos  beloAV,  and  as  clear  an  expression  of  the  inte- 
rior has  been  given  as  the  circumstances  of  the  case  permitted.  In  a near  vieAV 
the  beauty  of  these  upper  portions  richly  compensates  for  the  lack  of  unity  in 
general  effect ; and  in  a more  distant  vicAV  they  alone  are  noticeable.  Richard- 
son’s Avork,  as  he  foresaAV,  is  the  best  justification  of  his  course.  It  is  needless 
noAV  to  insist  that  this  course  Avas  not  dictated  by  inability  to  manage  a Renais- 
sance scheme  or  hy  a mere  self-seeking  impulse.  Yet  it  is  but  just  to  say  that 
those  Avho  took  pains  to  inquire  into  the  matter  kneAv  at  the  time  as  Avell  as  every 
one  sees  to-day,  that  he  had  good  reasons  to  give  for  his  choice  of  a Romanesque 
manner  of  treatment.  It  Avas  the  manner  of  treatment  Avhicli  in  all  cases,  at  this 
period  of  his  life,  he  theoretically  approved.  It  had  no  such  claim,  however,  upon 
Mr.  Eidlitz’s  preference,  as  his  Avork  in  the  interior  of  the  Capitol  is  enough  to 
shoAV ; yet  Mr.  Eidlitz  shared  Richardson’s  Avish  to  adopt  it  in  this  case  and  Mr. 
Olmsted  approved  their  joint  decision  because,  to  the  one  as  to  the  other,  it 
seemed  to  offer  the  best  chance  for  a true  expression  in  the  exterior  of  the  inter- 
nal structure,  arrangements,  and  s2Aecial  services  of  the  different  jAarts  of  the  build- 
ing. Had  the  same  artists  been  called  uiAon  to  complete  a building  Avhich  had 
been  Avell  begun  in  a Renaissance  style,  they  Avould  certainly  not  have  substituted 
another  style.  Rut  it  seemed  to  them  that  here  the  question  Avas  not  betAveen 
unity  and  disharmony  in  style  so  much  as  betAveen  a Avholly  bad  building  and  one 
Avliich  might  be  partly  good.  And  though  they  kneAV  their  course  Avas  open  to 
criticism  from  the  modern  standpoint,  they  must  have  drawn  confidence  from  the 
countless  precedents  Avhich  the  greater  ages  of  their  art  afford.  When  mediaAval 
builders  set  a Lancet-Pointed  on  top  of  a Norman  story,  or  a rigid  Perpendicular 
on  tojA  of  a florid  Gothic  story,  unity  of  effect  Avas  much  more  consiAicuously  vio- 
lated than  in  the  Albany  Capitol.  It  is  true  that  they  exjAressed  the  tastes  and 
Avishes  of  their  Avliole  generatioiq  Avhile  Richardson  and  Eidlitz  exjAressed  only 
their  j^ersonal  convictions  Avith  regard  to  Avhat  Avas  best ; but  this  Avas  as  unques- 
tionalAly  to  them  the  right  guide  to  folloAV. 

As  the  north  front  Avas  first  built,  the  assembly  chamber  was  ojAened  long  before 
the  senate  chamber ; and  Mr.  Eidlitz’s  tAvo  staircases  Avere  soon  finished,  Avhile 
Richardson’s  larger  one  has  not  yet  risen  above  the  first  story.  His  great  library 
also  has  barely  been  begun,  but  as  he  left  full  draAvings  for  it  Ave  may  hope  for  its 
completion  at  no  distant  date. 

The  senate  chamber  was  opened  in  March,  1881.  Its  dimensions  as  at  first 


PLAN  OF  WEST  STAIRCASE,  CAPITOL,  ALBANY. 


f 


ji. 


k'* 

X . 


THE  ALBANY  CAPITOL. 


77 


established  could  not  be  changed  by  Richardson ; but  they  were  so  much  greater 
than  was  desirable  — allowing  nearly  one  hundred  feet  by  sixty  feet  for  the  ac- 
commodation of  only  thirty-two  senators  — that  he  reduced  them  by  treating  the 
ends  as  lobbies,  divided  off  by  massive  arcades,  and  2)lacing  the  visitors’  galleries 
above  them.  Reauty  as  well  as  convenience  is  greatly  increased  by  these  arcades ; 
they  redeem  to  the  eye  the  existence  of  two  sin^erimi^osed  ranges  of  windows  — 
another  relic  of  the  original  design  that  could  not  be  done  away  with  ; and  the 
individuality  which  they  give  to  the  room  is  so  thoroughly  architectural  in  char- 
acter that  its  rich  materials  and  lavish  decorations  j)lay  a j^roperly  subordinate 
part  in  the  impression  it  j^roduces.^  The  lower  walls,  as  far  u})  as  the  sirring  of 
of  the  arches  of  the  first  range  of  windows,  are  faced  with  reddish-gray  Knoxville 
granite,  smoothly  finished  but  not  polished.  Above  this  for  a sjDacc  of  about 
twelve  feet  they  are  covered  with  polished  j^anels  of  mottled,  semi-translucent 
Mexican  onyx  framed  in  bands  of  yellow  Sienna  marble.  Above  this  i^aneling  is 
a simple  marble  string-course,  and  the  ui^per  walls  are  covered  with  gilded  leather. 
The  columns  are  of  dark  red-brown  granite,  the  capitals  of  whitish  marble,  and 
the  arches  of  Sienna  marble.  The  galleries,  which  are  bowed  between  the  col- 
umns into  slightly  j^rojecting  balconies,  have  balusters  of  Sienna  marble  and 
gray  marble  rails.  The  oaken  beams  of  the  ceiling  are  four  feet  in  depth  — not 
an  excessive  size  for  a room  fifty  feet  in  height  — and,  like  the  j^anels  between 
them,  are  richly  carved  and  touched  with  color.  The  great  chimney-breasts  have 
not  yet  been  carved,  nor  are  all  the  sculptured  details  in  other  parts  of  the 
room  comjDlete  or  all  the  windows  filled  with  suitable  glass.  The  furniture  is  of 
mahogany  and  red  leather.  In  its  color  effect,  as  in  its  architectural  scheme,  the 
room  is  one  of  the  most  suj)erbly  successful  and  one  of  the  most  individual  that 
has  been  built  in  modern  times.  Its  acoustic  j^roiDerties  are  excellent. 

Among  the  other  apartments  whieh  Richardson  comjjleted  are  the  governor’s 
room  and  the  court  of  aj^i^eals  room.  The  latter  is  less  striking  in  effect  than 
the  senate  chamber,  but  hardly  less  beautiful ; and  it  would  be  as  perfect  in  treat- 
ment had  the  great  stone  window-arches  been  sujDiDorted  by  j^ilasters  of  the  same 
material.  The  red-oak  j^aneling  which  covers  the  walls  has  been  used  for  the 
jambs  as  well,  somewhat  to  the  detriment  of  solidity  of  effect.  On  the  long  wall 
ojjposite  the  windows  it  is  so  disposed  as  to  frame  a row  of  historic  j^ortraits.  Its 
details  are  everywhere  profuse  but  delicate  in  treatment  and  quiet  in  effect. 
The  screen  in  front  of  the  judges’  platform  is  jDarticularly  rich  yet  refined  in  mo- 
tive, and  the  vast  marble  mantel  is  the  most  beautiful,  i)erhaps,  that  Richardson 
designed. 

The  design  for  the  great  staircase  was  jierfected  in  Richardson’s  later  years,  and 
when  comjfiete  it  will  be  one  of  the  finest  features  of  the  building.  The  well 
in  which  it  rises  measures  about  seventy  feet  square,  and  the  material  is  a pale 
red  Scotch  sandstone. 

^ These  are  the  arelies  wliicli  the  Englisli  historian  and  it  was  the  Romanesque  work  on  the  Capitol  as  a wliole 
critic  Freeman  praised  l>y  a comparison  wliich  to  him  wliicli  convinced  him  that  this  style  was  tlie  best  for 

meant  more  than  any  other  — l>y  saying  that  in  general  American  use.  No  praise  which  Richardson  ever  re- 

conception they  were  “ worthy  to  stand  at  Ragusa.”  And  ceived  pleased  him  so  much  as  this. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


Richardson’s  five  library  buildings  afford  an  excel- 
lent chance  to  trace  the  development  of  his  talent. 
Two  have  already  been  described.  The  third  was 
the  Crane  Memorial  Library  for  Quincy,  Mass., 
commissioned  in  May,  1880.  The  two  others  — 
the  Billings  Library  for  the  University  of  Yermont 
at  Burlington,  and  the  Converse  Memorial  Library 
at  Malden,  near  Boston  — were  not  commissioned 
until  three  years  later  but  may  best  be  considered 
here.  At  Quincy  and  at  Burlington  Richardson 
reached  the  most  perfect  expression  of  the  general 
scheme  upon  which  all  five  are  based. 

The  Quincy  building  bears  the  nearest  analogy  to  that  at  North  Easton,  but 
is  still  better  as  regards  appropriateness  of  effect 
and  architectural  coherence  and  charm.  The 
book-room  wing  is  practically  the  same.  But  the 
insertion  in  the  front  of  the  great  window  which 
lights  the  reading-room,  the  lowering  of  the  gable 
and  diminution  of  its  arcade,  the  alteration  into 
a staircase  turret  of  the  tower,  Avhich  at  North 
Easton  is  too  authoritative  in  expression  to  suit 
the  purpose  and  surroundings  of  the  building,  and 
its  more  vital  uniting  with  the  fagadc,  the  exten- 
sion of  the  line  of  the  roof  in  an  unbroken  sweep, 
and  the  enlivening  of  its  slope  by  the  useful  lit- 
tle windows  — all 
these  changes  are 
expressionally  for- 
tunate ; and  the 
compacter  massing 
which  results  from 

them  is  as  fortunate  from  a purely  aesthetic  point 
of  view.  Here  at  last  is  a whole  in  which  all 


WINDOW  IN  GABLE  OF  LIBRARY,  QUINCY. 


parts  arc  so  fused  together  that  it  is  impossible 
— - to  disassociate  them  in  thought.  The  building 

WINDOW  IN  PORCH  OF  LIBRARY,  QUINCY.  ^ , , 

looks  as  though  it  had  been  conceived  at  a sin- 
gle inspiration,  born  by  a single  impulse.  But  this  means  of  course  that  it 


CRANE  MEMORIAL  LIBRARY,  QUINCY. 


< 


i 


i 


'U 

) 


‘T 


WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


79 


was  the  result  of  patient  constructive  thought,  of  well  - trained  reasoning  skill. 
Inside,  the  plan  is  excellent  and  the  treatment  very  beautiful.  Largely  in  answer 
to  Richardson’s  own  needs  and  as  a result  of  the  difficult  yet  rational  tasks  he 
set  and  the  exacting  criticism  he  applied  to  their  execution,  a school  of  wood- 


carvers  had  by  this  time  been  developed  which  was  capable  of  doing  work  at  once 
vigorous  and  refined,  spirited  and  delicate.  He  furnished  the  designs  for  such 
work  from  his  own  office,  where  they  were  as  carefully  elaborated  as  his  exterior 
decorations ; and  in  Mr.  Evans’s  worksho]!  in  Boston  they  were  carried  out  as 


few  designs  have  been  in  recent  times.  The  interior  of  the  Quincy  Library  is  a 
rich  example.  The  many  slender  pilasters  are  delicately  reeded,  and  their  cap- 
itals constantly  vary  in  motive.  The  little  cornices  arc  exquisite,  and  the  great 
chimney-breast  with  its  Byzantinesque  decoration,  largely  based  xi])on  suggestions 
afibrded  by  native  plants,  is  a remarkable  piece  of  truly  architectural  ornament. 
The  carving  is  everywhere  abundant  but  nowhere  sins  by  over-abundance ; and 


80 


lIENliY  UOBSON  lUCIIARDSON. 


the  gi’jice  and  spirit  of  the  execution  lead  one  to  examine  it  with  a care  more 
often  given  to  ancient  than  to  modern  work.  It  is  a convincing  answer  to  those 
critics  who  have  said  that  the  llomanesque  motives  which  llichardson  preferred 
lack  those  qualities  of  refinement,  halance,  harmony,  and  grace  which  since  the 
days  of  the  classic  llenaissance  modern  taste  demands.  Richardson’s  decoration 


SKETCH  FOR  LIBRARY,  BURLINGTON. 


sometimes  erred  on  the  side  of  over-boldness,  barbaric  luxuriance,  diversity,  and 
emphasis.  But  when,  as  in  this  Quincy  interior,  he  based  his  work  upon  those 
liyz  antine  developments  the  likeness  of  which  to  classic  develoj)nients  is  so  clear 
and  close,  he  proved  the  entire  fitness  of  Romanesque  art  to  meet  the  most  refined 
demands  of  modern  taste.  And  in  the  harmonious  interpolation  of  motives  taken 
directly  from  neighboring  woods  and  fields  he  proved  the  possibilities  for  further 
development  which  the  style  possesses. 


LIBRARY,  BURLINGTON. 


In  the  Billings  Library  at  Burlington,  commissioned  in  1883  and  finished 
shortly  before  Richardson’s  death,  the  exterior  features  are  similar  to  those  em- 
ployed at  Woburn  though  the  plan  is  different  and  the  polygon  has  another  use. 
How  great  is  again  the  improvement  upon  the  first  expression  of  the  idea!  Wo- 
burn is  a striking  assemblage  of  picturesquely  connected  but  not  integrally  united 
parts  ; Burlington,  though  combined  of  as  piany  parts,  is  a true,  a homogenous 
whole.  Perhaj)s  it  is  not  so  striking  but  it  has  truer  dignity.  It  is  at  once  more 
simple  and  more  beautiful.  For  a University  library  standing  among  other  large 


CITY  HALL,  ALBANY. 


4 


WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


81 


buildings  the  tower  is  not  too  important ; and  if  the  stack-room  wing  seems  a 
little  too  short,  it  should  be  noted  that  an  additional  bay,  contemplated  in  Rich- 
ardson’s design,  was  omitted  in  the  execution  from  motives  of  economy.  The 
dimensions  of  the  two  buildings  are  the  same  within  a very  few  feet ; but  while 
Woburn  shows  an  intermingling  of  granite  and  sandstone,  Burlington  is  built 
entirely  of  sandstone.  The  interior  is  finished  in  hard  pine  and  the  polygon  is 
covered  with  an  open  timber  roof.  The  walls  are  simply  decorated  in  water-color. 


SKETCH  FOR  READING  ROOM,  LIBRARY,  BURLINGTON. 

I once  heard  Richardson  say  that  when  he  built  Woburn  he  Avas  in  his  “ pyro- 
technic stage.”  Any  of  his  later  works  might  serve  to  sIioav  the  difference  be- 
tween that  stage  and  the  one  in  Avhicli  he  expressed  his  mature  development,  yet 
in  no  Avay  could  it  have  been  so  clearly  shoAvn  as  by  the  chance  Avhicli  Burlington 
offered  him  to  build,  as  it  were,  the  same  library  OA^er  again. 

The  Malden  library,  as  our  illustration  shoAVs,  differs  from  the  others  in  the 
arrangement  of  its  plan.  It  is  a picturesque,  individual,  and  excellent  piece  of 
Avork,  but  it  has  neither  the  dignity  of  Burlington  nor  the  wholly  satisfying  charm 
of  Quincy.  Another  illustration  shoAVS  the  autographic  first  sketch  for  the  plan 
of  a large  library  on  a lot  of  unusual  shape.  It  Avas  made  in  May,  1884,  and  after- 
Avards  elaborated  for  a competition  in  Avhich  Richardson  Avas  unsuccessful. 

We  may  noAV  return  to  our  chronological  notice  of  his  works  of  other  kinds. 
Eight  months  later  than  the  commission  for  the  Quincy  Library  came,  in  coinpe- 


82 


HENRY  HOBSON  BICHARHSON. 


tition,  tlie  commission  to  build  a City  Hall  at  Albany,  N.  Y.  The  site  bad  been 
fortunately  selected.  The  great  State  Ca])itol  stands  on  top  of  a high  steep  hill 
from  which  the  streets  run  down  to  the  older  portion  of  the  town.  The  old  State 
House  had  stood  just  below  it,  on  a sort  of  broad  plateau  which  interrupts  the 
decliyity ; and  on  the  opposite  side  of  this  plateau,  Ayhere  the  descent  begins  again. 


u 


SKETCH  FOR  BOOK  ROOM,  LIBRARY,  BURLINGTON. 


the  neAv  City  Hall  Ayas  placed.  Thus  it  dominates  the  city,  and  is  dominated 
in  its  turn  by  the  greater  building  Avhich  represents  the  greater  authority  of  the 
CommoiiAvealth . 

% 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  much  more  about  the  City  Hall  than  our  illustrations 
tell.  It  is  admirably  adapted  to  the  irregularities  of  the  ground,  and  the  combi- 
nation Avith  the  jail  in  the  rear  is  cleyerly  effected  — a coyered  bridge  bringing 
the  prisoners  directly  from  their  cells  into  the  court-rooms  in  the  main  structure. 
The  great  iiorch  Avith  the  loggia  aboye  is  a characteristic  piece  of  composition ; and 
the  concentration  of  ornament  here  and  upon  the  gable  and  the  upper  2)art  of  the 
toAver  relieves  Avithout  disturbing  the  massiye  simplicity  of  the  other  portions. 
The  enormous  toAver  apj)ropriately  exj^resses  civic  authority ; and  it  has  a novel 


LAW  SCHOOL,  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY. 


i J 


\ 


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STUDY  FOR  REAR  OF  CITY  HALL,  ALBANY. 


V > 


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WORKS  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


83 


practical  use  as  a conveniently  arranged  storehouse  for  the  city’s  historic  papers. 
In  design  it  is  a very  free  adaptation  of  southwestern  liomanesque  precedents. 
Or,  more  truly,  it  is  a bold  development  of  these  precedents  along  a new  and 
individual  line.  There  may  be  a difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  wisdom  of  using 


LIBRARY,  MALDEN. 


unrelieved  light  stone  in  its  lower  and  unrelieved  dark  stone  in  its  upper  portions. 
But  there  can  be  none  as  to  the  fine  simplicity  and  reticence  of  all  the  lower  por- 
tions, or  as  to  the  vigorous  beauty  of  the  outline  of  the  tower.  One  important 
factor  in  the  effect  of  this,  however,  can- 
not be  appreciated  in  a picture  — the  bold 
batter  which  sets  the  great  body  so  firmly 
and  gracefully  on  its  feet.  A compari- 
son of  this  tower  with  that  of  the  Brat- 
tle Square  Church  strikingly  shows  the 
change  which  had  come  over  Richard- 
son’s attitude  toward  Romanesque  art 
as  a quarry  of  elements  for  the  modern 
designer’s  use. 


School  building 


Austin  Hall  — a Law 
for  Harvard  University  — was  commis- 
sioned in  February,  1881.  It  measures 
two  hundred  and  sixteen  feet  in  length, 
and  was  built  at  a cost  of  about  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  thousand  dollars.  In 
outline  and  massing  it  is  simple  almost  to 
severity,  and  the  symmetry  and  solidity  of 

the  wings  and  the  (piietness  of  the  gray  slated  roof  well  sustain  the  richness  of 
the  central  facade  and  the  striking  color  of  the  walls. 


PLAN  FOR  A LIBRARY  BUILDING. 
{Autograph  Sketch  by  II.  II.  liicharthon.) 


84 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


Ricliarclson  here  departed  from  his  usual  method  of  constructing  with  sandstone 
alone  or  with  a light-toned  granite  trimmed  with  sandstone.  The  ashlar  is  of 
dark  Longmeadow  sandstone,  the  trimmings  are  of  j^ale  yellow  Ohio  stone,  and 
blue-stone  is  introduced  in  the  mosaic  patterns.  A fortunate  result  is  not  often 
secured  by  a color  scheme  which  takes  a conspicuously  lighter  tone  for  the  most 
emphatic  members ; but  it  is  unusually  satisfactory  here,  as  the  large  rclatiye 
quantity  and  the  good  disj^osition  of  the  Ohio  stone  prevent  any  look  of  weakness 
or  confusion.  It  is  certain  that  at  this  period  of  his  life  Richardson  would  not 
have  used  so  striking  a color  scheme  in  any  building  less  austerely  composed  than 


the  Law  School ; but  it  may  be  questioned  whether,  even  as  it  is,  the  effect  is  not 
a little  too  striking.  Yet  it  is  very  beautiful  and  lacks  neither  dignity  nor  colier- 
ence.  Qidte  possibly  it  is  merely  the  neighborhood  of  Sever  Hall  which  temj)ts 
one  to  think  the  front  of  the  Law  School  a little  overdone,  while  no  piece  of  work 
that  Richardson  ever  executed  exceeds  the  back  of  this  building  for  purely  archi- 
tectural l:)eauty  — for  the  virtues  of  good  proportion,  harmonious  outlines,  well- 
arranged  features,  artistic  treatment  of  surfaces,  and  simple  dignity  of  expression. 

The  interior  of  the  School  was  very  carefully  planned,  and  except  that  the  ves- 
tibule and  the  longitudinal  hall  are  not  quite  commodious  enough,  it  is  very  suc- 
cessful. The  finish  throughout  is  plain  but  dignified.  The  walls  are  wainscoted 
and  plastered.  The  massive  radiating  arches  of  brick  which  sj^ring  from  the  col- 
umns in  the  two  rectangular  halls  arc  square  in  section,  but  furnished  with  a 
deeply  undercut  roll  at  either  edge.  The  responds  are  also  of  brick,  but  the  low 
sturdy  columns  are  of  polished  granite  with  lieaA'^y  carved  capitals  of  Knoxville 
marble.  The  stair Avays  sin,  if  at  all,  by  too  great  simplicity.  The  large  reading- 
room  over  the  lecture-amphitheatre  is  beautifully  proportioned,  Avell  lighted  and 
suitably  furnished.  The  coved  and  paneled  ceiling  is  supported  by  great  tie- 
beams  borne  on  long  corbels.  The  immense  fire-place  and  chimney-breast  are  of 
brick  and  Ohio  stone.  There  is  no  mantel,  but  a broad  slab  above  the  fire-place 
bears  a Latin  inscription  in  honor  of  Samuel  Austin,  to  Avhose  memory  the  School 


PORCH  OF  LAW  SCHOOL,  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY. 


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W0RK8  OF  MIDDLE  LIFE. 


85 


was  built  by  his  brother;  and  over  this  is  a charmingly  decorated  cornice  supported 
by  vast  foliated  brackets  — conventionalized  representations  of  gnarled  apple- 
branches. 

For  nearly  seven  years  after  the  Cheney  Building  in  Hartford  was  built  Rich- 
ardson had  no  occasion  to  design  a large  commercial  warehouse.  But  in  March, 
1882,  Mr.  Frederick  L.  Ames  gave  him  the  commission  to  build  one  at  Bedford 
and  Kingston  streets  in  Boston.  It  is  a costly  and  monumental  work,  entirely  of 
Longmeadow  stone,  occupying  a broadly  rounded  corner  site.  Although  it  cannot 
be  entirely  seen  from  any  point  of  view,  at  the  first  glance  it  is  extremely  impres- 
sive ; and  the  longer  one  looks  the  more  imposing  it  appears  as  a whole,  while 
features  of  the  greatest  merit  reveal  themselves  in  the  design.  The  successive 
ranges  of  arcaded  openings  are  beautifully  proportioned,  and  the  fact  that  each  of 
the  lower  ones  embraces  two  stories  of  the  interior  is  frankly  indicated  in  their 
construction.  The  size  of  the  dormers  does  not  seem  as  unduly  great  as  the  pho- 
tograph leads  one  to  believe  ; and  the  unconventional  way  in  which  they  break 


EMMANUEL  CHURCH,  ALLEGHENY  CITY. 


through  the  cornice  is  not  displeasing  to  the  eye.  A keen  feeling  for  appropriate- 
ness of  expression  is  shown  by  the  small  size  and  inconspicuous  character  of  the 
doorways  ; — dearly  as  Richardson  loved  a great  arched  portal,  he  knew  when  it 
would  be  out  of  place  and  when  the  windows  should  bo  more  important.  The 
details  of  decoration  are  carefully  studied  throughout,  and  nothing  more  beautiful 
was  ever  designed  in  the  Brookline  office  than  the  strong,  rich,  yet  delicate  coupled 
lights  of  the  upper  arcade.  But  despite  the  beauty  of  the  building  and  the  excel- 
lence of  many  of  its  parts,  this  store  can  hardly  be  called  one  of  Richardson’s 
most  satisfactory  productions.  As  a monument  pure  and  simple  it  is  superb ; as 


8G 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARHSON 


ii  building  adapted  to  commercial  uses  it  lias  the  defect  of  inappropriateness. 
When  we  examine  the  design  part  by  part  and  consider  for  what  service  it  was 
intended,  this  service  does,  indeed,  make  itself  clearly  manifest ; — no  building 
with  a lower  story  of  this  pattern  and  with  so  constant  a succession  of  uniform 
openings  above  eoidd  have  been  meant  for  any  other  use.  It  is  the  richness  of 
the  execution  which  is  inappropriate.  We  have  so  few  superb  monuments  in  our 
cities  that  we  can  hardly  be  conscientious  enough  to  regret  that  this  one  is  so 
superb.  But  as  the  adequate  expression  of  the  given  problem  in  its  entirety,  — 
and  in  consequence  as  an  example  for  others,  a type,  a model,  — it  cannot  be  as 
highly  valued  as  some  of  Richardson’s  other  buildings.  For  his  own  sake,  and 
especially  for  the  sake  of  his  influence  upon  American  art,  it  was  well  that  he  lived 
long  enough  to  solve  the  same  problem  again  in  a more  perfect  way. 

The  summer  of  this  year  Richardson  spent,  as  has  been  told,  in  Europe.  The 
months  next  after  his  return  he  devoted  to  the  competition-drawings  for  the 
Albany  Cathedral. 


SKETCH  FOrt  A CHAPEL. 


AMES  BUILDING,  BOSTON. 


.t 


-2\ 


r:  r 


I 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  DRAWINGS. THE  PITTSBURGH  COURT-HOUSE. 

While  still  in  Europe  Richardson  had  agreed 
to  compete  for  the  commission  to  build  a Prot- 
estant Episcopal  cathedral  church  at  Albany.  It 
was  not  until  the  latter  part  of  October,  however, 
that  he  could  give  the  scheme  serious  attention, 
and  it  was  almost  the  end  of  November  before  he 
got  fairly  to  work  on  the  drawings.  About  four 
months  later  they  were  finished.  The  time  seems 
short  when  we  see  their  elaborate  perfection. 
They  are  very  large  in  size  and  nine  in  number, 
including  plan,  perspective,  exterior  and  interior 
elevations,  longitudinal  and  transverse  sections, 
and  a sheet  of  details  upon  which  even  the  sub- 
jects for  the  stained-glass  windows  are  fully  indicated.  Their  interest  would  be 
very  great  if  they  merely  showed  the  high  degree  of  technical  skill  which  Rich- 
ardson’s pupils  had  acquired.  In  no  office  in  the  world  could  a more  clear,  com- 
plete, and  beautifully  executed  set  of  drawings  be  prepared.  More  than  two  of 
them  would  have  been  published  with  this  volume  had  it  proved  possible  in 
reducing  them  to  preserve  their  beauty  or  even  their  significance. 

The  instructions  laid  before  the  competing  architects  described  a site  which 
measured  two  hundred  and  eighty-six  feet  by  one  hundred  and  forty  feet,  and  a soil 
of  stratified  clay  which  would  require  the  greatest  care  in  preparing  the  founda- 
tions. The  cathedral  was  to  be  Gothic  in  style,  to  follow  “ to  some  extent  the 
traditional  arrangements  of  the  Church,”  and  to  seat  from  fifteen  hundred  to 
eighteen  hundred  persons  on  the  ground  ffoor.  The  choir  was  to  be  furnished 
with  stationary  seats  but  the  nave  to  be  left  free  for  the  use  of  chairs.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  church  itself  there  were  required  : A bishojD’s  vestry  with  treasury 
attached ; other  vestries  for  clergy  and  choir  ; a chapter -house  ; a hall  to  accom- 
modate one  hundred  persons,  and  a covered  bridge  to  connect  the  north  side  of 
the  church  with  a school  across  the  street.  It  was  also  prescribed  that,  as  it  was 
probable  that  the  wdiole  of  the  structure  could  not  be  immediately  built,  the 
architect  should  show  how  a joortion  of  the  expenditure  might  be  postponed, 
either  by  deferring  the  execution  of  part  of  the  constructive  work  or  by  defer- 
ring only  the  ornamental  work  and  “ erecting  the  structural  parts  complete  or  in 
such  manner  as  may  be  considered  desirable  by  the  architect,  bearing  in  mind 
that  the  works  of  the  first  stage  must  provide  a building  fit  and  proper  for  occu- 
pation by  the  whole  number  of  persons  mentioned.”  Two  separate  drawings  of 


CATHEDRAL  CHURCH. 
{Autograph  Sketch  bg  IL  II.  Richardson.) 


88 


HENRY  HOBSON  lUCHARDSON. 


the  building  as  it  would  he  in  this  first  stage  were  required,  and  a limit  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  was  set  as  its  total  cost.  No  limit  of  cost  was 
set  with  regard  to  the  completed  cathedral. 

Tlie  proposed  site  seemed  to  Richardson  too  small,  hut  he  was  told  it  could  not 
he  enlarged.  The  reduction  of  his  plan  will  show  the  main  arrangements  of  his 
church,  which,  as  his  accompanying  memoranda  explained,  he  tried  “ to  avoid 
making  merely  an  enlarged  parish  church.”  All  the  accessory  apartments  are  suji- 
j)lied  on  the  ground  level  except  the  treasury,  which  is  placed  in  the  crypt  under 
the  bishop’s  vestry  ; and,  in  addition,  a baptistry  is  supplied  beneath  the  north- 
western turret,  and  the  hall  is  so  treated  as  to  be  useful  for  chapel-services.  The 
design  well  illustrates  one  of  Richardson’s  greatest  merits  — his  poAver  to  appre- 
ciate the  value  both  of  ancient  forms  consecrated  by  persisting  sentiment  and  of 
practical  modern  needs,  and  to  put  the  one  Avithout  violence  to  the  sciwice  of  the 
other.  It  folloAvs  “ the  traditions  of  the  Church  ” not  merely  “ to  some  extent,” 
but  as  they  are  represented  in  fully  developed  mediaeval  examples.  Yet  Avhen  Ave 
examine  it  Ave  find  that  no  niedia)A  al  feature  has  been  kept  simply  for  the  sake  of 
correctness ; each  has  its  use,  traditional  Avhenever  possible,  novel  Avhenever  neces- 
sary, but  Avhen  novel  none  the  less  appropriate.  For  example,  no  ecclesiastical 
features  are  more  beautiful  in  exterior  or  in  interior  effect  than  the  ambidatories 
and  apsidid  chapels  of  great  French  churches,  and  none  are  more  helpful  in 
accenting  the  difference  betAveen  a mere  parish  church  and  something  nobler.  W e 
have  no  saints  to-day  Avhom  Ave  Avorship  behind  the  high-altar  at  altars  of  their 
OAA 11 ; but  Richardson  Avas  surely  Avise  to  preserve  the  form  of  their  sanctuaries 
Avhen  providing  the  several  vestries  that  Avere  required  of  him.  He  Avas  also  Avise 
to  meet  our  modern  Avish  for  comfort  by  surrounding  a great  part  of  his  church 
Avith  Avide,  Ioav,  vaulted  passages  or  lobbies,  especially  as  they  give  additional  beauty 
to  both  the  interior  and  the  exterior  perspectives,  and  in  no  Avay  detract  from 
the  scholarly  correctness  of  his  scheme  as  a Avhole. 

When  Ave  turn  to  the  other  draAvings  we  see  that  he  interpreted  in  a very 
liberal  Avay  the  iirescription  that  the  church  should  be  “ Gothic  in  style.”  His 
main  arches  are  slightly  pointed,  Imt  noAvhere  else  has  he  varied  from  the  prece- 
dents of  pure  Romanesque  art.  As  a consequence,  no  design  could  be  less  Gothic 
in  effect  or  feeling,  as  a Avhole  or  in  detail.  Only  by  a straining  of  terms  can  Ave 
say  even  so  much  as  that  it  is  in  a Transitional  style.  It  is  so  clearly,  so  emphat- 
ically Romanesque  that  Ave  feel  it  Avould  hardly  be  more  purely  Romanesque  Avere 
all  its  arches  semi-circles.  Even  so  optimistic  a man  as  Richardson  must  have 
knoAvn  that  in  presenting  such  a scheme  he  seriously  compromised  his  chances  of 
success.  Doubtless  he  not  only  hopc\d  but  believed,  either  that  his  faint  semblance 
of  a surrender  to  their  Avishes  Avoidd  satisfy  his  judges  or  else  that  the  intrinsic 
beauty  of  his  design  Avould  revolutionize  those  Avishes.  But  be  this  as  it  may,  he 
could  not  have  consented,  at  any  time  in  his  maturer  years,  to  build  a really  Gothic 
church,  and  least  of  all  at  this  particular  time  Avhen  he  Avas  fresh  from  the  study 
of  ancient  Romanesque  art  and  more  than  ever  convinced  of  its  peculiar  fitness 
for  modern  adaptation.  A man  of  a different  mould  might  have  thought  that 
the  holding  of  such  beliefs  forbade  him  to  enter  this  competition.  But  Richard- 
son believed  that  the  first  duty  of  an  artist  Avas  the  eager  use  of  every  possible 


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ALLEGHENY  COUNTY  BUILDINGS.  PITTSBURGH. 


. . ' 

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f. 


■ :ii. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  DRAWINGS. 


89 


opportunity  to  impose  his  own  ideas  of  art  upon  the  world.  As  will  he  seen  from 
his  memoranda^  he  j^ointed  out  to  the  eommittee  how  his  design  might  be  altered 
to  make  it  less  exj^ensive  ; but  he  never  hinted  at  any  possibility  of  alteration  in 
the  matter  of  style.  And  in  after  days  when  he  spoke  of  the  chance  he  had 
lost,  it  was  always  to  regret  that  he  had  not  been  allowed  to  build  the  church  in 
his  own  way  — never  that  he  had  not  tried  harder  to  persuade  himself  to  build 
it  in  another’s  way. 

Only  a careful  study  of  all  the  drawings  in  their  original  size  can  show  how 
perfectly  Richardson  had  absorbed  the  very  marrow  and  spirit  of  his  chosen  style. 
It  is  impossible  to  point  to  any  one  ancient  church  which  is  the  plain  prototype 
of  this.  But  I think  it  would  he  imj)ossihle  to  find  any  which  more  perfectly 
rejiresents  the  highest  possibilities  of  the  style  it  follows  except  as  size  is  an 
clement  in  grandeur  of  efiect ; and  none  is  a more  vital  entity,  a more  organic 
Avhole.  Those  who  know  the  precedents  upon  which  he  drew  are  astonished 
at  the  scholarliness  of  Richardson’s  treatment ; hut  those  who  do  not  know  them 
feel  its  logical  and  vital  excellence  as  strongly.  We  may  like  his  design  or  not, 
hut  we  like  it  or  dislike  it  as  a whole,  and  according  to  our  personal  taste  in 
the  matter  of  style.  We  do  not  say  that  it  is  better  in  one  part  than  in  another, 
more  beautiful  here  than  there.  As  has  been  already  explained,  we  cannot  regret 
that  Richardson  was  forced  to  spend  his 
few  remaining  years  upon  work  of  a dif- 
ferent sort.  Yet  nothing  could  have 
been  more  fortunate  for  his  fame  than 
that  he  should  have  prepared  these 
drawings.  While  they  reveal  a side  of 
his  endowment  which  without  them  we 
should  never  have  apj^reciated,  they 
throw  the  brightest  light  upon  the  prin- 
ciples which  ruled  his  practice  as  a 
whole.  They  show  that  he  had  a schol- 
arly grasp  upon  the  richest  traditional 
resources  of  his  art  which  the  most 
purely  antiquarian  of  architects  might 
envy,  and  therefore  they  prove  that 
when  he  was  not  scholarly  it  was  of  deliberate  intent,  that  when,  in  the  maturity 
of  his  power,  he  was  “ free  ” or  “ eclectic  ” in  treatment,  it  was  because  he  felt 
that  fitness  did  not  call  for  historic  accuracy,  that  practical  or  exi)ressional  needs 
demanded  more  of  inventive  and  less  of  re])roductive  effort.  Some  ex])lanatory 
extracts  from  the  memoranda  he  submitted  with  his  drawings  are  given  in  an 
ai)pendix.  Further  analysis  of  them  would  be  useless,  as  it  cannot  he  accompanied 
by  the  whole  series  in  illustration.^ 


GRANITE  CAPITAL,  COURT*HOUSE,  PITTSBURGH. 


Richardson’s  success  in  the  coni])etition  for  the  county  buildings  at  Pittsburgh, 
Pa.,  was  announced  in  February,  1884.  The  contracts  fixed  the  cost  of  the  work 


^ kSee  Appendix  IV. 

" The  legacy  Richardson  has  left  ns  in  these  drawings 
is  too  precious  to  he  lost.  If  in  any  part  of  America 


another  cathedral  chnrch  is  desired  their  existence  should 
surely  l)e  remembered. 


90 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


at  $2,243,024.  It  has  been  finisliecl  sinee  Iticliardson’s  death.  The  site  was 
fortniiately  chosen,  on  top  of  the  highest  hill  in  a hilly  town. 

The  main  building,  which  forms  a hollow  square,  measures  three  hundred  and 

one  feet  by  two  hundred  and  nine  feet, 
and  in  the  rear,  connected  with  it  by  a 
coyered  bridge,  stands  the  jail.  The 
court  - yard  within  the  main  building 
measures  one  hundred  and  forty-fiye  feet 
by  seyenty  feet,  is  entered  by  two  great 
arched  passage-ways,  and  may  conycn- 
iently  be  used  as  a place  for  pid)lic 
meetings.  In  its  principal  features  the 
plan  of  the  building  is  the  same  on  all 
the  floors  excepting  as  regards  the  great 
staircase,  which  is  of  two  flights  only, 
beginning  in  the  basement  and  leading 
to  the  great  Indls  of  the  first  and  second 
stories.  Four  other  large  staircases  and 
four  eleyators  are  accommodated  in  tow- 
ers at  the  angles  of  the  court-yard,  and  rise  to  the  top  of  the  building.  All  the 
rooms  lie  on  the  outside  of  the  wings  towards  the  street,  and  are  connected  by 
corridors  which  encircle  the  court-yard.  The  first  story  is  twenty-fiye  feet,  the 
second  twenty-nine  feet  high  in  the  large  apartments  ; but  in  the  smaller  ones 
this  height  is  diyided  to  admit  of  half-stories  or  mezzanines.  The  small  rooms 
are  thus  doubled  in  number  while  their  proportions  are  improyed.  The  county 
offices  occupy  the  first  story.  In  the  second  are  the  chief  court-rooms  and  a 
library  almost  as  large  as  the  largest 
court-room,  which  measures  seyenty  feet 
by  forty-fiye  feet.  In  the  third  story  are 
court-rooms  again  and  a multitude  of 
clerks’  apartments,  while  the  roof  story 
can  be  put  to  similar  use  if  needful. 

Aboye  the  third  floor  the  fiye  remaining 
stories  of  the  tower  are  arranged  as  stor- 


age-rooms for  documents,  while  one  of  its 
turrets  holds  a staircase  and  another  an 
eleyator,  and  two  are  yentilating  shafts. 

Of  course  this  is  but  the  barest  optline 
of  a plan  the  minute  excellence  of  which 
can  only  be  understood  by  a careful  com- 
parison of  the  requirements  set  before  the  architect  with  his  large-scale  drawing. 

As  the  work  was  well  under  way  before  the  utilization  of  natural  gas  had  puri- 
fied Pittsburgh’s  atmosphere,  Pichardson  gaye  particular  care  to  the  question  of 
lighting,  and  we  are  told  that  it  was  his  success  in  this  direction  more  eyen  than 
the  artistic  merit  of  his  designs  which  determined  their  selection.  All  the  main 
apartments  are  lighted  from  two  sides,  and  there  is  not  a single  room  in  the  build- 


JAIL,  PITTSBURGH. 


I 


THE  PITTSBURGH  COURT-HOUSE. 


91 


ing  which  does  not  receive  an  abundance  of  light  through  the  outer  walls.  The 
heating  apj^liances  are  of  an  elaborate  kind,  and  the  ventilating  apparatus  is  among 
the  most  interesting  features  of  the  building.  The  supj^ly  of  fresh  air  is  drawn 
from  the  top  of  the  tower  through  openings  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
above  the  ground,  and  after  being  warmed  and  cleansed  is  distributed  in  a vol- 
ume which,  it  is  calculated,  will  supj)ly  thirty  cubic  feet  of  fresh  air  j^er  minute  to 
each  occuiiant  of  the  Court-house.  The  care  with  which  all  accessory  details 
have  been  considered  is  shown 
by  the  fact  that  every  gas  jet  in 
the  building  has  its  special  ven- 
tilating pij^e. 

In  plan  the  jail  is  in  the  shape 
of  an  irregular  cross  the  central 
part  of  Avhich  is  occupied  by 
an  octagonal  guard-room,  forty- 
eight  feet  in  diameter,  which 
is  also  to  be  used  as  a chapel. 

One  short  arm  of  the  cross  con- 
tains the  reception  and  officers’ 
rooms,  while  the  other  arms  are 
occupied  by  the  tiers  of  cells. 

Two  L-shaped  wings  at  the  end 
of  the  cross  contain  the  kitchen 
and  various  service-rooms,  the 
hospital,  and  the  sheriff’s  dwell- 
ing, while  the  prisoners’  court- 
yards are  formed  by  their  junc- 
tion Avith  the  Avings  of  the  jail 
proper.  The  details  of  the  plan 
are  of  the  greatest  interest  — 
convenience,  security,  and  thor- 
ough ventilation  being  provided 
for  in  simple  yet  ingenious  Avays. 

The  treatment  of  the  outside  of  the  great  building  is  shoAvn  in  our  illustrations. 
The  construction  throughout  is  fire-proof.  Pinkish-gray  Milford  granite  backed 
Avith  brick  is  used  in  the  street  fronts,  and  brick  for  the  most  part  in  the  court- 
yard fronts.  The  trimmings  are  of  cut  stone  but  the  ashlar  is  rock-faced.  Orna- 
ment is  very  sparingly  used  and  the  capitals,  like  the  mouldings,  strings,  and 
Avater-tahles,  are  kept  very  fiat,  in  order  to  avoid  the  disfigurement  of  surface  and 
the  distortion  of  line  Avhich  Avould  result  from  the  accumulation  of  soot  ui)on 
projecting  memhers.  The  building  dejAends  for  its  beauty  ujAon  its  design  jAropcrly 
so-called,  Avhich,  Avhile  jAreserving  a dignified  symmetry  hetAveen  corresponding 
part  and  part,  is  so  varied  in  the  successive  stories  as  to  produce  an  effect  of 
great  grandeur  combined  Avith  animation.  When  the  plan  and  the  ]Aerspective  are 
studied  together  Ave  find  that  this  variation  clearly  expresses  the  varying  impor- 
tance and  jAurpose  of  the  different  ajAartments.  Above  the  chief  entrance-porch 


IIENIIY  HOB  ISON  lUCHAlWSON. 


TOWER,  COURT-HOUSE,  PITTSBURGH. 


on  Grant  Street  (the  eentral  arch  of  which  is  thir- 
teen feet  wide  hy  twenty  feet  in  height)  the  three 
large  arelied  windoAVS  light  the  library,  Ayhilc  the 
similar  ones  in  the  third  story  light  the  supreme 
court  room.  On  the  other  fronts  the  eentral  groups 
of  AvindoAys  light  the  2>Tiiicipal  eoiirt-rooms,  and  the 
long  arcades  of  the  third  story,  Avhich  do  so  mnch  to 
relieye  the  massiye  effect  of  the  loAyer  jAortions,  open 
into  the  roAvs  of  transerihing-rooms  and  offices.  'Jdie 
great  gables  on  the  side  fayades  emphasize  the  idace 
of  the  passage- Ayays  Avliich  giye  access  from  the  street 
into  the  court-yard.  The  toAver  is  yery  heautiful  as 
a i)iece  of  design  and  is  appropriate  as  expressing  the 
ciA  ic  poAA'cr  Avhicli  has  its  throne  beneath  these  roofs. 
If  it  had  no  use  but  this  it  AA  onld  still  be  a neces- 
sary feature  from  an  artistic  ])oint  of  yicAy  ; but  our 
interest  in  its  beauty  is  yastly  increased  Ayhcn  Ave 
sec  that  A arious  iicAy  modern  needs  hayc  been  met 
in  the  preseiwation  of  this  traditional  feature  the 
ancient  uses  of  A\diich  arc  noAy  symbolic  ouIax  It 

C-  c/ 

is  such  a piece  of  Avork  as  this  toAycr  Ayhieh  most 
conyineingly  shoAys  the  truly  creatiye  character  of 
Ivichardson’s  talent.  The  exterior  of  the  jail  is  in 
harmony  Ayith  that  of  the  Court-house  but  is  much 
more  seyere  in  treatment.  The  roof  reyeals  the 
shape  and  importance  of  the  octagonal  hall,  and  the 
yast  Aoussoirs  Ayhieh  llichardson  brought  home  in 
his  mind  from  Spain  are  as  appropriate  in  a modern 
])rison  door  as  in  ancient  portals  of  defense. 

Taken  as  a aa  hole  the  design  of  this  yast  and  com- 
plex structure,  both  inside  and  out,  is  a inaryel  of 
good  sense  as  Aycll  as  of  architectural  beauty.  None 
of  the  faidts  Ayhieh  appear  in  some  of  Iliehardson’s 
other  buildings  can  be  found  in  this.  It  seems  as 
simply  yet  completely  right  in  execution  as  in  first 
concc])tion.  We  may  take  the  Court-house  as  llich- 
ardson Ayished  it  to  be  taken  — as  the  full  expres- 
sion' of  his  mature  poAyer  in  the  direction  Ayhere  it 
Ayas  most  at  home.  Had  he  not  liyed  to  build  it 
his  record  Ayoidd  still  hayc  been  a surprising  one 
and  Avould  still  hayc  entitled  him  to  be  called  a man 
of  genius  in  the  full  meaning  of  the  term.  But  it 


Ayoidd  have  been  an  incomplete,  a broken  record, 
Avhile  now  Ave  see  the  best  of  Ayhieh  he  himself  felt  capable ; and  seeing  it  Ave 
believe  that  no  ]Aossible  problem  Avhich  a long  life  might  have  brought  him  Avould 
have  been  too  difficult  for  him  to  solve.  It  proves  that  he  Avas  more  firmly 


THE  PITTSBURGH  COURT-HOUSE. 


93 


convinced  than  ever  that  in  the  precedents  of  southern  Romanesque  he  could  find 
his  best  inspiration,  but  that  he  had  worked  his  way  to  a very  different  attitude 
towards  them  from  the  one  he  had  first  assumed.  The  Court-house  is  the  most 
magnificent  and  imposing  of  his  works,  yet  it  is  the  most  logical  and  quiet.  It 
is  the  most  sober  and  severe,  yet  it  is  the  most  original  and  in  one  sense  the 
most  eclectic.  Although  all  its  individual  features  have  been  drawn  from  an 
early  southern  style,  its  silhouette  suggests  some  of  the  late-mediaeval  buildings  of 


the  north  of  Europe,  and  its  symmetry,  its  dignity  and  nobility  of  air,  speak  of 
Renaissance  ideals.  To  combine  inspirations  drawn  from  such  different  sources 
into  a novel  yet  organic  whole  while  expressing  a coinj^lex  plan  of  the  most  mod- 
ern sort  — this  was  indeed  to  be  original.  There  is  no  other  municipal  building 
like  Richardson’s  Court-house.  It  is  as  new  as  the  needs  it  meets,  as  American 
as  the  community  for  which  it  was  built.  Yet  it  might  stand  without  loss  of 
prestige  in  any  city  in  the  world. 


CTIAPTEPv  XV. 


THE  FIELD  BUILDING  AND  THE  CINCINNATI  CHAMBER  OF  COMMERCE. 

The  Baptist  Church  at  XcM  ton,  near  Boston,  which  llichardson  was  commis- 
sioned to  build  in  October,  1884,  is  interesting  chiefly  by  reason  of  its  plan. 
Pecuniary  resources  Avere  limited,  and  the  design  was  therefore  very  sim])le,  while 
the  ornament  Mdiich  relieve  its  massiveness  has  been  left  in  block  for  future 
execution. 

Our  non-cpiscopal  congregations  often  ask  that  a church-building  shall  include 
many  things  besides  the  place  of  M orship  itself — large  Sunday-school  and  lecture 
rooms,  “ ehurcli  parlors,”  committee-rooms,  and  even  kitchens  to  serve  charitable 
and  social  needs.  In  providing  all  these  at  Newton  Richardson  adopted  an  expe- 
dient Mdiich  worked  in  the  interests  of  economy  as  ivell  as  of  that  love  for  archi- 
tectural clearness  Avhicli  Avould  have  a church  to  look  like  a church  and  nothing 
else.  Instead  of  surrounding  his  church  Avith  a group  of  minor  apartments  he 
massed  these  into  a basement  story  and  placed  his  church  above  them.  In  meet- 
ing the  special  needs  of  a Baptist  congregation  he  designed  as  wisely  and  in  a very 


PLAN  OF  BAPTIST  CHURCH,  NEWTON. 


original  way.  The  characteristic  feature  of  the  Baptist  service  is  the  rite  of 
immersion,  but  in  previous  churches  this  rite  had  never  been  architecturally  rec- 
ognized. The  great  tank  or  “ baptistry  ” had  not  been  a part  of  the  structural 


THE  FIELD  BUILDING. 


95 


design  but  a mere  make-shift  — an  undignified  basin  sunk  in  the  floor  and  boarded 
over  when  not  in  use  ; and  those  who  had  approached  or  left  it  had  been  forced  to 
pass  in  full  sight  of  the  congregation.  Richardson’s  baptistry,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  a permanent,  prominent,  and  controlling  feature  in  his  design.  The  east  end  of 
his  church  forms  a large  semi-circular  apse.  On  the  chord  of  the  apse  stands  the 
pulpit-i3latform  and  behind  this  is  a large  basin,  sufficiently  raised  to  be  visible 
from  the  church  and  inclosed  on  the  other  three  sides  to  a considerable  height  by 
a curtain.  Beyond  and  above  rise  the  circling  windows  of  the  apse,  and  the 
screened-off  space  between  its  loAver  Avails  and  the  curtain  is  filled  by  dressing- 
rooms  arranged  on  a radiating  plan.  The  practical  good  sense  of  the  idea  is  not 
more  evident  than  its  expressional  and  artistic  felicity. 

The  Field  Building  in  Chicago  stands  Avith  the  Pittsburgh  Court-house  and  the 
Cathedral  draAvings  at  the  head  of  all  Richardson’s  productions,  and  in  sjAite  of 
the  unquestionable  superiority,  as  monumental  conceiAtions  intrinsically  consid- 
ered, of  these  two  Avorks,  it  is  in  one  Avay  his  most  remarkable.  At  first  sight 
either  the  Cathedral  or  the  Court-house  may  seem  richer  in  evidence  of  his  imag- 
inatiA^e  ability.  But  in  neither  of  them  Avas  his  imagination  compelled  to  begin 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  problem.  Cathedrals  existed  by  scores,  not  just  like  the 
one  he  conceived  but  similar  in  scheme ; the  type  was  fixed,  the  main  features  set- 
tled, the  general  plan  prescribed ; and  the  minor  features  Avhich  he  combined  into 
a fresh  result  Avere  all  to  be  found,  in  suggestion  at  least,  in  the  vast  and  varied 
storehouse  of  ancient  precedents.  Great  municijAal  buildings,  too,  had  been  built 
for  ages ; and  though  they  imposed  upon  him  no  such  ready-made  outline  of  a 
scheme  as  did  the  old  cathedrals,  they  gave  at  least  standards  of  comparison  by 
which  he  could  anticipate  the  probable  suceess  of  his  OAvn  effort.  In  each  case 
— though  in  each  in  a different  way  — his  result  is  amply  entitled  to  be  called  new 
and  individual.  But  in  neither  is  it  based  on  a radically  ncAV  conception. 

On  the  other  hand,  a vast  commereial  building  of  the  sort  he  Avas  more  than 
once  bidden  to  design  had  been  a thing  unknoAvn  in  earlier  ages.  The  depend- 
ence of  the  art  of  architecture  upon  the  science  of  construction,  the  dependence 
of  this  upon  the  practical  Avants  of  men,  and  the  alteration  of  these  Avants  by  facts 
and  inventions  of  seemingly  slight  import,  aa  ere  never  more  strikingly  shoAvn  than 
by  the  genesis  of  the  immensely  tall  commercial  buildings  of  our  larger  toAvns. 
They  Avere  born  of  tAvo  distinctively  American  characteristics  — haste  and  me- 
chanical ingenuity.  Our  intense  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  time  is  money  has 
made  the  cost  of  land  in  our  large  cities  extraordinarily  great ; for  it  is,  of  course, 
the  Avish  to  save  time  Avhich  makes  us  croAvd  our  places  of  business  so  closely 
together.  This  costliness  of  the  land  inspired  the  wish  for  a greater  degree  of 
vertical  extension  than  had  previously  been  achieved  ; and  the  development  of 
the  steam-lift  permitted  such  extension  to  a degree  limited  only  by  construc- 
tional necessities.  Architecture  as  an  art  had  no  voice  in  the  ncAV  departure, 
but  was  merely  bidden  to  make  the  structurally  possible  artistically  satisfying  if 
it  could. 

If  general  proportions  Avere  the  only  things  prescribed  to  the  designer,  the 
most  difficult  problems  of  this  class  would  be  those  in  Avhich  lateral  dimensions 


9G 


HEXEY  HOB  SOX  EICIIAEBSOX. 


are  narrowest.  But  individual  features  are  also  j)rescril)ed  to  him  in  undigni- 
fied monotony.  lie  may  not  boldly  project  (iiid  recess  his  masses  — he  would 
waste  yaluable  ground.  He  may  not  consi)icuously  break  the  ridge  or  incline  the 
slope  of  his  roof  — his  upper  story  is  not  a garret  but  a sj^ace  as  yaluable  as  those 
Avliich  lie  below  it.  He  may  not  group  his  openings  and  su])port  them  with 
broad  fields  of  wall  — his  interior  must  be  cut  uj)  into  many  little  rooms  alt 
equally  well  lighted.  Nor  does  economy  or  expressional  truth  permit  him  to 
introduce  great  portals,  loggias,  bays,  or  balconies.  The  practical  ideal  of  a com- 
mercial building  is,  in  short,  a v ast  rectangular  box  pierced  at  close  equal  interyals 
with  windows  of  moderate  size.  The  average  factory  — only  with  exaggerated 
height  — may  stand  as  the  type  of  the  thing  which  the  American  architect  is 
asked  to  make  a vyork  of  art  fit  to  stand  in  comparison  in  a city’s  finest  streets 
with  church  and  dwu'lling-housc  and  municipal  palace.  It  is  easy  to  see,  there- 
fore, vyhy  the  more  lateral  dimensions  are  enlarged,  the  greater  his  difficulties 
become  ; for  the  larger  and  more  self-asserting  a structure,  the  less  content  we  can 
be  vyith  a design  vyliich  is  simply  agreeable  in  its  indiyidual  features  — the  more  vye 
ask  in  the  v\  ay  of  coherent  dignified  effect,  vv  ell-balanced  structural  composition. 
And  hovy  are  these  qualities  to  be  secured  when,  no  matter  what  the  lateral 
extension,  height  is  still  excessiye,  mass  must  still  be  unbroken,  and  features  still 
petty  and  monotonous  ? 

llichardson  was  one  of  the  first  to  try,  seriously  and  frankly,  to  answer  this 
question  ; and  at  the  time  w hen  it  was  built  no  other  answer  so  successful  as  his 
Cheney  Building  in  Hartford  had  been  giyen.  His  Ames  Building  in  Boston  was 
an  improv  ement  ev  en  upon  this  — at  last  we  had  a great  commercial  structure 
vyhich  was  a monument  of  beauty,  wdiich,  far  from  disjvleasing  the  eye,  produced 
a strong  “ architectural  emotion.”  But  the  problem  was  not  fully  mastered. 
Beauty  had  been  gained,  but  at  the  sacrifice  of  ex2vressional  truth  in  general  effect 
and  — a j^oint  of  especial  imjvortance  in  a class  of  work  wdiich  must  be  controlled 
by  economical  more  than  by  iiurely  aesthetic  considerations  — at  the  expenditure 
of  too  great  an  amount  of  money.  The  richly  delicate  ornamentation  of  the 
Ames  Building  is,  like  all  good  architectui  al  decoration,  so  much  a jjart  and 
parcel  of  the  scheme  that  we  cannot  supiiress  it  and  leave  the  scheme  in  a state 
to  be  criticised  with  fairness.  But  it  means  too  great  an  outlay  for  the  average 
owner  to  emulate  ; and,  even  if  this  consideration  be  ignored,  it  means  an  exj)res- 
sion  which  is  not  in  accord  with  the  purpose  of  the  building.  A store  should 
not  cost  as  much  as  a palace,  and  just  as  certainly  it  ought  not  to  look  like  a 
palace. 

The  judgment  of  many  other  architects  ujion  the  Ames  Building  has  exjiressed 
itself  in  more  or  less  successful  attempts  to  reproduce  its  general  effect.  Bich- 
ardson  himself  always  took  great  pride  in  its  incontestable  beauty ; but  his 
true  judgment  of  it  as  a type  for  repeated  use  is  showm  by  the  character  of  tlie 
Chicago  building  commissioned  by  Mr.  Marshall  Field  in  Ajjril,  1885.  Certain 
structural  ideas,  certain  main  features,  are  common  to  the  two ; but  their  treat- 
ment is  widely  different,  and  in  effect  and  exjvression  the  earlier  and  the  later 
building  are  utterly  unlike. 

The  main  constructional  device  common  to  the  two,  but  far  more  boldly  and 


FIELD  BUILDING,  CHICAGO. 


■i 


C 


I 


, '''I, 


f i 


■ f'-t : 


THE  FIELD  BUILDING. 


97 


simply  carried  out  in  the  Field  Building,  is  the  including  of  more  than  one  story 
within  the  sweep  of  a range  of  great  round-headed  arches.  It  is  not  a device 
peculiar  to  Richardson  but  one  which  — partly  though  by  no  means  solely  as  a 
result  of  his  influence  — is  accepted  by  most  of  our  able  architects  as  the  best  for 
the  purpose.  It  redeems  the  monotonous  poverty  of  many  low  stories  and  count- 
less little  windows.  It  suj)plies  features  appropriate  in  scale  to  the  height  of  the 
structure.  It  leads  the  eye  in  a horizontal  direction  without  unduly  multiplying 
horizontal  lines.  It  manifests  solidity ; and  it  permits  rej^ose  and  animation  to 
be  combined. 

The  nearest  approach  of  earlier  ages  to  the  modern  problem  had  been  made  in 
the  lofty  palaces  of  Renaissance  Italy.  We  know  how  Palladio  dealt  with  them 
— diminishing  their  height  and  ennobling  the  relative  lowness  of  their  stories  by 
his  ranges  of  great  pilasters.  We  know,  too,  how  his  bold  innovation  has  ever 
since  been  criticised  by  purists.  An  observer  of  broad  taste,  however,  may  find 
much  to  say  in  favor  of  it,  and  still  more  to  say  in  favor  of  our  modern  version 
of  the  same  idea.  The  result  which  Palladio  sought  to  produce  by  ornamental 
additions  we  try  to  produce  in  the  process  of  construction ; and  though  superficial 
beauty  may  be  greater  in  his  work,  ours  has  a more  truly  architectural  excellence. 
Our  great  including  features  form  not  an  overlay  but  the  fabric  itself,  and  the 
included  ranges  of  windows  are  integrally  united  with  them  and  with  one  another, 
while  their  individual  independence  is  yet  clearly  shown  by  the  heavy  mullions 
and  transoms. 

The  Field  Building  is  the  vast  rectangular  box  in  its  most  uncomjDromising 
estate.  The  site  measures  three  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  by  one  hundred 
and  ninety  feet,  and  every  foot  of  it  is  covered  by  a solid  mass  which  rises  to  a 
height  of  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet.  The  roof  is  invisible,  the  doorways 
are  inconspicuous,  and  decoration  is  very  sparingly  used.  The  whole  effect  de- 
pends upon  the  structure  of  the  walls  themselves.  No  building  could  more 
frankly  express  its  purpose  or  be  more  self-denying  in  the  use  of  ornament.  Yet 
the  most  elaborately  massed,  diversified,  and  decorated  structure  could  not  be 
more  truly  a design  ; and  its  prime  virtues  of  a solidity  commensurate  with  its  ele- 
vation and  a dignity  equal  to  its  bulk  are  secured  in  such  a way  that  even  a high 
degree  of  beauty  is  not  wanting.  The  material  is  fine  in  color  — red  sandstone  in 
the  upper  parts  and  red  Missouri  granite  in  the  lower.  The  tone  of  the  two  dif- 
fers only  slightly,  but  they  are  unlike,  of  course,  in  quality  and  are  differently 
finished  — the  sandstone  is  cut  and  the  granite  is  rock-faced.  Each  detail  of  the 
reticent  sculptured  decoration  tells  strongly  against  the  general  severity,  and  the 
hand  of  a careful,  skillful  artist  is  as  plainly  visible  in  that  varied  disposition  of 
the  plain  units  of  construction  which  gives  interest  to  every  foot  of  the  surface. 
It  is  visible,  too,  in  the  beautiful  profile  of  the  angles,  and  in  that  alternation  of 
heavier  with  lighter  piers  which  inconspicuously  yet  effectively  relieves  the  mo- 
notony of  the  upper  range  of  windows.  In  short,  this  vast,  plain  building  is  as 
carefully  studied  as  the  smallest  and  most  elaborate  could  be,  and  is  a text-book  of 
instruction  in  treatment  no  less  than  in  composition. 

In  August,  1885,  Richardson  gained  in  competition  the  commission  to  build  for 
the  merchants  of  Cincinnati  their  Chamber  of  Commerce.  The  work  was  not 


98 


IIEXIIY  IIOB.'SON  men  ARB  SOX. 


actually  begun  until  after  liis  death,  but  the  approved  design  had  received  its  final 
inodifications  under  his  own  eye.  A coniparison  of  the  illustration  here  given 
with  the  coinpetition-drawing^  will  show  what  these  modifications  were  — changes 
in  the  treatment  of  the  basement,  in  the  design  of  the  main  story  on  the  shorter 
fagade  (making  it  similar  to  the  longer),  and  in  the  pitch  and  elevation  of  the 
roof,  all  effected  for  the  sake  of  greater  simplicity  and  of  more  harmonious  ]^ro23or- 
tions.  The  design  as  it  is  now  being  carried  out  is  most  interesting  in  its  e^  idence 


FOUNTAIN,  DETROIT. 


that  Richardson  always  in  these  later  years  felt  the  value  of  symmetry  and  of  the 
repose  which  it  secures,  although  he  still  liked  to  work  in  an  ornate  way  when 
the  character  of  the  building  joermitted. 

The  i^roblem  i^resented  by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  had  not  the  ham}:)ering 
monotony  of  a simj^le  commercial  building,  but  it  was  quite  as  modern  in  its  own 
way.  American  merchants,  like  their  fiu'-off  predecessors  in  Belgium  and  Hol- 
land, want  a great  and  dignified  hall  of  assemblage  ; but,  with  a keener  eye  to  rev- 
enue, they  demand  that  it  shall  be  combined  with  an  “ office  building,”  ■ — that 
every  possible  foot  of  space  shall  be  j^iit  to  use  in  ways  that  are  often  quite  at 
variance  with  the  chief  use  of  the  building,  and  that  as  many  such  feet  as  j3ossible 
shall  be  secured  by  vertical  extension.  Richardson’s  j^roblem,  therefore,  was,  well 
to  combine  and  clearly  to  exj)ress  many  apartments  alien  in  character  and  discord- 
ant in  idea ; and  it  is  hard  to  say  whether  its  practical  or  its  expressional  difficul- 
ties were  greatest. 


^ Published  in  the  American  Architect  and  Buildin(j  Nea-s,  September  11,  1886. 


CHAMBER  OF  COMMERCE,  CINCINNATI. 


r 


-J 


i 


I 


I 


* 

i 


THE  CINCINNATI  CHAMBER  OF  COMMERCE. 


99 


The  building  stands  on  a sloping  site  which  measures  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  by  one  hundred  feet.  The  first  floor  and  the  higher  portions  of  the  basement 
are  occuj)ied  by  bank-offices,  shoj^s,  and  a restaurant.  The  second  story,  forty- 
eight  feet  in  height,  contains  the  great  hall  and  its  dej^endencies  — part  of  it  being 
subdivided  into  three  tiers  of  small  rooms.  The  hall  is  one  hundred  and  forty 
feet  long  by  sixty-eight  feet  wide,  with  a lobby  forty  feet  by  eighteen  feet.  The 
angle-j3avilions  form  large  bays  in  the  hall  itself  where  members  may  retire  for 
private  conference.  The  three  upper  stories  are  filled  with  offices,  the  j3ortions 
above  the  hall  being  suspended  from  the  roof  by  an  elaborate  scheme  of  iron  con- 
struction. A knowledge  of  this  scheme  justifies,  of  course,  the  j^onderousness  of 
the  roof  and  of  the  immense  angle-pavilions  which  support  it.  The  exj^ressional 
clearness  and  the  beauty  of  the  exterior  treatment  need  no  fuller  exj^lanation 
than  our  illustration  gives.  The  construction  throughout  is  entirely  fireproof. 
The  walls  are  of  pink  Milford  granite  and  the  roof  is  of  red  tiles. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


RAILROAD  STATIONS. DWELLING-HOUSES. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Rich- 
ardson was  never  commissioned  to  build  a 
great  terminal  railway  station.  His  success 
with  smaller  stations  proves  that  such  a 
problem  would  have  given  free  outlet  to 
his  talent  on  ifs  strongest  side. 

In  the  year  1881  he  was  asked  to  build  a 
small  station  at  Auburndale,  near  Boston,  a 
larger  one  at  Palmer  in  the  centre  of  the 
State,  and  another  small  one  at  North 
Easton.  Three  more  Avere  jAut  in  hand  in 
1883,  four  in  the  succeeding  year,  and  Hvo  in  1885,  Most  of  them  Avere  for 
rural  stopping-places  in  the  neighborhood  of  Boston ; but  one  Avas  for  Holyoke, 
near  Springfield,  and  another  for  Noav  London,  Conn.,  and  both  of  these  are  of 
larger  size.  The  last  named  (Avhich  Avas  not  begun  until  after  his  death)  is  of 
brick  ; all  the  others  are  of  granite  trimmed  Avith  LongmeadoAv  stone. 

A glance  at  any  one  of  them  shoAvs  that  Richardson  strove  first  of  all  clearly 
to  express  the  building’s  purpose  — to  mark  the  fact  that  a station  is  not  a house 
but  a shelter,  not  a j^lace  to  live  in  but,  so  to  say,  a place  to  Avait  under.  The 
roof  is  the  chief  feature,  not  the  Avails.  These  are  ahvays  Ioav  and  the  plan  as 
compact  as  possible,  Avhile  the  roof  is  always  massive  and  broad.  In  tiny  Avayside 
stations,  such  as  that  at  AYaban,  there  are  no  lArojecting  sheds  but  the  roof  is  car- 
ried far  out  on  great  Avooden  corbels.  Sometimes,  as  at  North  Easton  and  Chest- 
nut Hill,  there  is  a great  carriage-porch  on  the  side  aAvay  from  the  tracks  and  a 
long  shed  running  beside  them ; and  again,  as  at  Holyoke,  the  shed  encircles  the 
Avhole  building.  In  no  tAvo  cases  are  the  designs  alike,  but  in  all  there  is  the 
same  expression  of  temporary  shelter  as  the  main  thing  to  be  supplied,  together 
Avith  a sturdy  air  of  permanence.  Often  this  air  is  secured  Avith  the  frankest  good- 
sense  but  occasionally  it  results  in  part  from  features  Avhich  a sternly  conscientious 
criticism  might  condemn.  At  North  Easton,  for  instance,  three  huge  round-arches 
form  the  three  exposed  sides  of  the  carriage-porch,  supporting  nothing  but  them- 
selves and  their  OAvn  roof.  They  are  evidently  giants  doing  striplings’  service.  But 
they  may  excuse  themselves,  perhaps,  as  accenting  the  expressional  importance  of 
the  roofs,  and  their  l)eauty  is  so  seductive  — so  simple  yet  so  picturesque,  so  digni- 
fied yet  so  rural  looking  — that  it  is  hard  to  protest  against  them.  In  fact,  our 
country  railroad  stations  had  so  long  been  hideous  make-shifts  or  futile  attempts 
at  prettiness  (and  in  either  case  synonyms  for  fragility  and  parsimony),  that  the 


DINING-ROOM,  HOUSE  OF  N.  L.  ANDERSON,  WASHINGTON. 


RAILROAD  STATION,  AUBURNDALE. 


I 


S 


RAILROAD  STATION.  HOLYOKE. 


RAILROAD  STATIONS. 


101 


massiveness  of  Richardson’s  seemed  a protest  which  would  have  been  less  welcome 
had  it  been  less  emphatic.  Nor  was  it  often  too  emphatic.  The  majority  of  his 
stations  are  as  simple  and  right  in  feature  as  they  are  approiiriate  in  general  effect, 
while  none  of  them  show  more  than  touch  of  decoration.  All  parts  are  as  carefully 


RAILROAD  STATION,  NORTH  EASTON. 


built  and  finished  as  in  his  monumental  structures,  all  materials  are  dignified  and 
durable,  and  all  surfaces  are  made  j)leasant  to  the  eye.  The  interior  of  the  wait- 
ing-rooms is  wainscoted  with  Avood  or  brick,  and  the  construction  of  the  roof  is 
usually  shoAvn.  All  necessary  features  are  artistically  treated  — the  fire-places 
(aa  hich  are  commonly  of  brick),  the  drinking-fountains  and  gas-fixtures,  the  settees 
on  the  exterior  and  the  long  benches  Avithin,  and  the  ticket-offices  Avhich  project 
upon  the  platform  as  charmingly  designed  bays.  But  no  features  or  details  exist 
for  the  sake  of  beauty  merely,  and  there  is  no  carving  in  stone  and  very  little 


RAILROAD  STATION,  NORTH  EASTON. 


in  Avood.  The  corbeled  Avooden  posts  Avhich  support  the  sheds  are  especially 
to  be  commended  for  their  simplicity  and  their  frank  expression  of  the  nature 
of  the  material. 

It  need  hardly  be  added  that  the  j)lan  of  each  station  Avas  very  carefully  studied 
for  convenience  as  Avell  as  compactness,  or  that  each  Avas  designed  Avith  reference 
to  its  effect  on  its  own  particular  site.  Chestnut  Hill  is  ])crhaps  the  jnettiest 


102 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


examj^le  of  a union  of  artistic  and  natural  beauties  which  to  some  degree  might 
always  he  secured  in  similar  spots,  making  an  hour’s  detention  there  a very  differ- 
ent thing  from  that  purgatory  of  discomfort  and  impatience  which  we  are  so  often 
called  upon  to  hear. 

^yllcn  an  architect’s  leanings  are  distinctly  toward  massiveness,  impressiveness, 
grandeur,  vigor,  and  self-assertion,  we  naturally  conclude  that  he  will  show  less 
aptitude  for  domestic  than  for  monumental  work  — especially  in  a land  like  ours 


which  asks  for  no  palaces  or  castles  but  merely  for  citizens’  dwellings,  modest,  as 
a rule,  in  all  respects  and  even  when  sumptuous  and  costly  seldom  of  great  size. 
Richardson’s  record  is  in  harmony  with  such  conclusions.  Indeed,  it  illustrates 
their  justness  even  more  plainly  than  might  have  been  foreseen. 

In  his  earlier  years  he  seems  to  have  had  a comparative  distaste  for  domestic 
work  which  amounted  almost  to  positive  dislike.  He  would  sometimes  exclaim 
in  his  over-emphatic  way  that  “ house-building  is  not  architecture  in  the  noble 
sense  of  the  word ; ” and  the  phrase  was  half  inspired  by  sincere  conviction, 
though  half,  perhaps,  by  the  feeling  that  house-building  was  not  the  kind  of  archi- 
tecture in  which  his  own  success  had  been  achieved.  He  was  too  sensible,  how- 
ever, and  too  ambitious  to  decline  any  commission  which  came  in  his  way,  and  too 
true  an  artist  not  to  exert  himself  in  its  fulfillment.  And  as  commissions  for 
houses  became  more  frequent  with  the  growth  of  his  reputation,  and  as  his 
results  became  more  of  an  honor  to  that  reputation,  his  interest  increased  propor- 
tionately. In  the  last  few  years  of  his  life  he  felt  the  deepest  concern  and  the 
most  entire  pride  in  the  many  houses  he  then  had  in  hand. 

The  interiors  of  his  early  houses  are  much  better  than  their  exteriors.  These 
are  uninteresting,  and  in  the  light  of  to-day  seem  uncharacteristic,  even  unpro- 
jihetic.  Here,  more  evidently  than  in  his  other  structures,  he  was  working  in  the 
dark,  with  no  clear  idea  of  what  he  wished  to  do  or  of  the  relative  value  of  the 
various  schemes  which  presented  themselves.  No  one  of  these  houses  represents 
a definite,  distinct  conception,  while  even  the  Agawaxm  Bank  and  the  Worcester 


RAILROAD  STATION,  CHESTNUT  HILL. 


1] 


t 


S' 


r 


■H  ,,f  > 

»’■  !! 

4 A 


a 


/ 


D WELLING-HO  USES. 


103 


High  School  do  represent  such  conceptions, 
although  of  unsatisfactory  kinds.  Mr.  Ben- 
jamin F.  BoAvles’s  house  in  Springfield,  for 
example,  Avas  built  long  after  these  tAA^o  AA^orks 
— in  May,  1873,  Avhen  Trinity  Church  had 
been  in  hand  a year  ; hut  all  there  is  about  it 
AAdiich  speaks  of  Richardson  or  of  any  strong- 
designer  is  a broad  plain  field  of  brick  AA-all 
at  the  back.  The  only  early  house  Avhich  - 
is  successful  as  a AAdiole  is  the  one  designed 
for  Mr.  William  Watts  Sherman  of  NeAA^Aort 
in  1874.  It  is  partly  of  stone  and  partly 
shingled,  and  though  less  simple  and  coher- 
ent in  design  than  Richardson  would  liaA-e 
made  it  later  in  his  life,  it  is  picturesque,  in- 
diAddual,  and  attractive.  It  is  still  among  the  most  interesting  houses  in  NeAAq)ort. 

It  Avas  not  until  1879  that  Richardson  undertook  another  dAvelling.  Then  he 
designed  the  rectory  for  Trinity  Church  in  Boston.  By  this  time  his  manner  had 
become  firmly  established  if  not  fully  developed,  and  the  rectory  is  a characteristic 
j:)iece  of  work  though  by  no  means  one  to  cite  as  really  representative.  The  great 
porch  and  many  other  features  are  delightful ; but  the  composition  is  restless  and 
the  decoration  someAvhat  heavily  out  of  scale.  Picturesque  is  again  the  Avord 
Avhich  comes  to  mind,  and  it  is  not  the  highest  Avord  of  praise  for  a city  house. 

An  entrance-lodge  for  the  country-seat  of  Mr.  Frederick  L.  Ames,  at  North 
Easton,  Avas  commissioned  in  March,  1880.  Of  course  it  is  not  one  of  Richardson’s 
important  works,  yet  there  is  no  other  of  any  kind  which  has  been  more  often 
illustrated,  more  Avidely  discussed,  or  more  diversely  judged. 


GATE  LODGE,  NORTH  EASTON. 


Its  purpose  is  more  dignified  than  its  name  implies ; in  addition  to  the  lodge 
proper  it  contains  a suite  of  bachelor  ajAartments,  and  the  circular  end  is  a storage- 
room  for  plants  in  Avinter.  It  is  built  of  boAvlders  such  as  Avere  used  in  the  Med- 
ford church,  but  in  a more  eccentric  Avay.  No  stones  Avere  too  big,  too  rough,  or 


104 


IIEKBY  HOBSON  EICIIAIWSOJSt 


too  abnormal  in  shape  to  claim  a i)lacc  in  its  walls,  and  the  ashlar  about  the  open- 
ings was  made  as  inconspicuous  as  possible.  Considered  in  themselves  these  walls 
would  be  brutal  if  they  were  not  so  amusing  ; but  refinement  is  given  the  building 
bv  the  graceful  great  curve  of  the  archway  (built  of  cut  stones  of  many  tints  but 
all  of  local  origin)  and  by  the  fine  sweep  of  the  simple  roofs.  It  is  too  eccentric 
a building  to  be  judged  by  the  standards  which  we  apply  to  Richardson’s  other 
works.  Individual  taste  will  always  play  a larger  jiart  than  reasoned  criticism 
in  deciding  upon  its  merits.  The  public  has  found  it  peculiarly  attractive.  Many 


SKETCH  OF  HOUSE  FOR  N.  L.  ANDERSON,  WASHINGTON. 


architects  have  praised  it  in  strong  terms.  Others  have  called  it  inferesting  but 
not  beautiful.  Others,  again,  pronounce  it  a mere  architectural  extravaganza  of  a 
semi-humorous  sort,  acknowledging,  however,  that  only  a vigorous  mind  could 
have  been  whimsical  in  such  titanic  fashion.  The  most  serious  reproach  which 
can  be  brought  against  it  is  of  an  extrinsic  character.  It  seems  to  announce  the 
entrance  to  a vast  park  and  a massive  chrdeau,  rather  than  to  an  American  coun- 
try home. 

In  1881  Richardson  was  employed  by  Mr.  F.  L.  Iligginson  to  build  a house 
fifty-five  feet  in  Avidth  on  Beacon  Street  in  Boston.  At  the  same  time  a Ncav 
York  firm  of  architects,  tAvo  of  Avhom  (Messrs.  McKim  and  White)  had  been  his 
OAvn  pupils,  Avere  commissioned  to  build  a house  of  similar  size  on  an  adjoining 
lot.  The  tAvo  designs  are  very  different  in  style  and  spirit,  but  each  designer,  we 
perceive,  kept  a friendly  eye  upon  the  other’s  intentions.  The  same  materials  — 
LongmeadoAV  stone  and  red  brick  — are  used  in  both  buildings,  the  string-courses 
come  at  the  same  level,  the  roofs  are  similar,  and  the  general  result  is  one  of 


D W ELLIN G-IIO  USES. 


105 


harmony  in  contrast,  of  artistic  amity  and  mutual  support,  such  as  we  seldom 
find  where  adjacent  houses  clearly  confess  a different  parentage. 

The  interior  of  Richardson’s  house  is  very  dignified,  and  shows  the  touch  of  a 
skillful  i^lanner  and  a master  of  rich  yet  refined  decoration.  But  neither  the 
reticence  nor  the  refinement  of  the  interior  is  reproduced  outside.  The  design  is 
bold,  effective,  and  in  parts  very  interesting,  and  the  roof  at  least  is  extremely 
good.  But  as  a whole  this  house  again  is  too  picturesque,  too  restless,  too  em- 
phatic in  decoration,  and  too  uncompromisingly  massive.  And  it  seems  less  char- 
acteristic even  in  its  defects  than  most  of  Richardson’s  buildings  of  so  late  a date 
— desj3ite  its  Romanesque  forms  it  hints  at  the  influence  of  the  modern  English 
gospel  of  domestic  architecture  as  preached  by  Mr.  Norman  Shaw.  It  shows,  in 
short,  that  Richardson  had  not  yet  conceived  a vital  and  satisfactory  idea  of  his 
own  Avith  regard  to  the  aspect  Avhich  a city  home  should  wear.  When  Ave  consult 
our  dates  and  find  that  Trinity  rectory  is  contemporaneous  Avith  Sever  Hall,  and 
Mr.  Higginson’s  house  Avith  the  LaAV  School  and  the  Auburndale  station,  Ave  real- 
ize hoAV  sloAv  in  every  resjAect  Avas  his  advance  in  domestic  Avork. 

Richardson  made  a great  step  foi’Avard,  hoAvever,  Avhen  he  designed  a red  brick 
house  for  Mr.  N.  L.  Anderson  in  Washington  in  the  summer  of  1881.  The  prob- 
lem Avas  more  inspiriting  than  that  Avhich  had  offered  on  Beacon  Street.  There 
he  had  had  a fagade  only ; here  he  had  a corner  lot  extensive  enough  to  leave  a 
large  house  free  on  every  side.  The  house  is  very  simple  in  mass,  Avith  tAvo  plainly 
treated  bays  and  a lofty  hijAiAed  roof.  So  Aaist  is  this  roof  that  though  Aery  beau- 
tiful it  strikes  one  more,  perhaps,  as  an  expedient  to  avoid  the  commonplace  than 
as  an  obviously  sensible  covering  for  a city  home  in  a climate  Avhere  snoAvs  are 
light  and  infrequent.  And  the  entrance  also,  though  in  an  opposite  Avay,  bears 
the  imprint  of  Avillfulness.  If  the  roof  is  too  self-asserting,  the  entrance  is  so  very 
quiet  that  its  expression  is  hardly 
in  accord  Avith  its  practical  im- 
portance in  the  scheme.  Yet  in 
spite  of  these  faults  the  building 
is  a fine  one  — grand  in  mass, 
harmonious  in  proportions,  co- 
herent in  design,  and  dignified  in 
its  severe  simplicity.  Here  at 
last  Ave  have  a true  conception. 

The  interior  is  Avholly  successful, 

Avell  lighted,  and  in  plan  unlike 
our  usual  types  of  arrangement 
yet  not  at  all  eccentric.  It  has  at  once  an  aristocratic  and  a thoroughly  com- 
fortable air.  It  is  a charming  interior  to  look  at  and  a delightful  one  to  live  in. 

A country  house  for  the  Rev.  Percy  BroAvne  at  Marion,  Mass.,  Avas  designed  in 
the  last  months  of  the  same  year.  It  is  one  of  the  smallest  structures  tliiit  Rich- 
ardson ever  built,  and,  I l)clicve,  the  least  expensiA  e ; yet  in  its  Avay  it  is  a great 
success.  It  stands  on  the  crest  of  a short  but  steep  slope  overlooking  a road  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  village,  beyond  Avhich  lie  flat  meadoAVS  and  the  not  distant 


REAR  OF  PERCY  BROWNE'S  HOUSE,  MARION. 


106 


lIEKltY  HOBSON  lUCHABDSON. 


sea.  It  is  ycry  low  and  comparatively  very  long,  with  many  windows  in  broad 
groups,  a loggia  in  the  centre  of  the  front,  a piazza  at  one  end  and  across  a j^or- 
tion  of  the  hack,  small  dormers,  and  low  bnt  massive  chimneys.  Its  foundations 
follow  with  delightlul  frankness  the  variations  of  the  ground  upon  which  it 
stands,  while  its  good  proportions  and  the  harmonious  arrangement  of  its  roof- 
lines  give  it  that  truly  architectural  character  in  which  dignity  may  lie  for  the 
most  modest  building.  It  is  so  appropriate  to  its  surroundings  that  it  seems  to 
have  grown  out  of  them  by  some  process  of  nature,  and  it  is  equally  appropriate 
to  its  purpose.  It  explains  itself  at  once  as  a gentleman’s  summer  home,  hut  with 


a simplicity  which  does  not  put  the  humblest  village  neighbor  out  of  counte- 
nance. Inside,  the  planning  gives  an  unexpected  amount  of  comfort  and  air  of 
sj^acc.  The  doorways  are  very  wide,  and  are  so  arranged  as  to  afford  a diagonal 
instead  of  a straight  perspective.  The  windows  are  carefully  placed  to  command 
every  possible  point  of  outlook,  the  rear  views  toward  woods  and  sunset  being  as 
much  considered  as  those  which  show  the  sea.  The  longer  one  studies  this 
little  house  the  better  one  likes  it,  the  more  typical  it  seems  of  that  sort  of  excel- 
lence which  the  American  owner  so  often  craves  — artistic  treatment  combined 
with  cheapness,  comfort  with  small  dimensions,  beauty  with  simplicity,  refinement 
without  decoration.  Outside,  the  only  touch  of  ornament  is  given  by  the  varied 
shaping  of  the  shingles,  and  inside,  pleasant  tints  alone  relieve  the  plainness  of  the 
woodwork,  and  good  outlines  the  severity  of  the  chimney-pieces.  It  has  sometimes 
been  said  that  Richardson  took  so  much  interest  in  great  problems  that  he  had 
none  left  to  give  to  small  ones.  But  no  one  could  have  more  carefully  studied  a 
little  house  like  this,  the  cost  of  which,  exclusive  of  foundations,  barely  exceeded 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars. 

In  January,  1884,  Richardson  received  from  Mr.  John  Hay  and  Mr.  Henry 
Adams  the  commission  to  build  two  acljoining  houses  on  La  Fayette  Square  in 
Washington.  Mr.  Hay’s  house  stands  on  the  corner  of  Sixteenth  Street  while 
Mr.  Adams’s  has  but  a single  fagade  fronting  on  the  square.  In  each  case  certain 


HALL,  HOUSE  OF  JOHN  HAY,  WASHINGTON. 


:0 


;A 

ti! 


' • 
■'  k 


1)  WELLING-HO  USES. 


107 


BRICK  CARVING,  HOUSE  OF  HENRY  ADAMS, 
WASHINGTON. 


things  were  prescribed 
of  so  controlling  a sort 
that  the  design  cannot 
he  judged  as  strictly  rep- 
resenting Richardson’s 
own  impnlses.  No  one 
kncAV  better  than  he, 
for  instance,  that  the 
turret-like  bay  which 
forms  the  angle  of  the 
corner  house  tends  to  destroy  rej)ose, 
and  introduces  an  unfortunate  accent  of 
picturesqueness  into  a whole  which  oth- 
erwise would  have  been  of  monumental 
dignity.  Again,  the  singular  plan  of  Mr.  Adams’s 
house  was  given  in  outline  for  his  treatment.  In 
this  case,  however,  the  demand  resulted  in  no 
decrease  of  excellence.  The  chief  rooms  were  to  be  ujd- 
stairs,  and  the  ground  floor  was  to  be  divided  longitudi- 
nally by  a wall  — the  hall  and  staircase  lying  to  the  right, 
the  kitchen  ajDartments  to  the  left  of  it,  and  communica- 
tion between  them  being  effected  only  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  Richardson  clearly  marked  this  division  on  the  exterior  by  designing  his 
ground-story  with  two  low,  somewhat  depressed  arches  with  a pier  between  them. 
Within  one  arch  is  the  beautifully  treated  main  doorway,  and  behind  the  other, 
masked  by  a rich  iron  grille,  are  the  windows  of  the  servants’  apartments,  while  the 
door  which  leads  to  these  lies  beyond  the  arch  to  the  left.  Inside,  the  hall  with 
its  great  fire-place  and  its  stairway  forming  broad  platforms  is  as  charming  as  it  is 
individual,  and  the  living-rooms  up-stairs  are  well  proj^ortioned,  and  simple  but 
complete  in  detail.  The  fire-places  arc  their  chief  features  — wide  and  low,  with 
jambs  and  mantels  of  rich -toned  marble 
which  might  be  too  heavy  but  for  their 
carefully  studied  outlines  and  firm  yet 
delicate  decoration. 

The  finest  external  feature  of  Mr.  Hay’s 
house  is  the  doorway  on  Sixteenth  Street 
— jin  imposing  arrangement  of  broad  steps 
leading  np  to  a balustraded  platform  with  a richly  carved 
door  set  back  under  a powerful  round  arch.  Inside,  even 
the  fine  hall  is  exceeded  in  beanty  by  the  dining-room,  one 
end  of  which  is  filled  by  a wide  mantel  of  green  marble 
recessed  in  a deep  alcove  of  the  same  material. 

Both  houses  are  built  of  red  brick  with  trimmings  of  very 
light-colored  Ohio  stone.  The  plain  brick  surfaces  as  well  as  the  carvings  were 
carefully  studied  for  variety  in  unity.  The  upper  part  of  Mr.  Adams’s  house  is  par- 
ticularly instructive  as  proving  what  quiet  yet  interesting  efiects  can  be  produced 


STONE  CARVING,  HOUSE  OF  HENRY 
ADAMS,  WASHINGTON. 


108 


IIENBY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


by  the  diversified  arrangement  of  plain  bricks.  As  a whole  this  fogade  is  both  suc- 
cessfnl  and  original.  The  imposed  conditions  arc  partly  responsible  for  the  fact 
that  the  adjoining  side  of  Mr.  Hay’s  house  docs  not  combine  with  it  quite  hap- 
pily ; but  it  is  inferior  even  as  regards  those  details  of  treatment  for  which  we 


SKETCH  OF  HOUSE  FO*^  J.  R.  LIONBERGER,  ST.  LOUIS. 


must  hold  the  artist  altogether  responsible.  The  main  front  of  this  house,  however, 
including  the  entrance  just  described,  is  almost  as  good  as  Mr.  Adams’s  fagade  and 
more  imposing  in  effect.  One  gets  a good  idea  of  the  scope  of  Richardson’s 
talent  by  turning  from  the  rich  dignity  of  this  house  to  the  utter  simplicity  — 
quite  as  artistic  in  its  own  way  — of  Mr.  Adams’s  stable. 


SKETCH  OF  HOUSE  FOR  FRANKLIN  MACVEAGH,  CHICAGO. 


In  March,  1885,  another  large  house,  for  Mr.  B.  H.  Warder,  was  taken  in  hand 
in  Washington.  Although  it  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  block  its  plan  is  not 
determined  by  the  usual  straight  fagade.  The  width  of  the  lot  — about  sev- 
enty-six feet  — permitted  Richardson  to  recess  nearly  one  half  of  the  front  to  a 


• • .I1 


f 


t 


■ ■ 


..y , 


i 

I 


*} 


C 


D WELLING-HO  USES. 


109 


considerable  distance.  The  space  thus  left  free  forms  a carriage-entrance  from 
which  a great  archway  beneath  the  recessed  wing  gives  access  to  the  stables  in 
the  rear.  The  more  prominent  wing  contains  the  great  hall  with  the  reception 
rooms  and  chief  bedrooms  above ; the  other  contains  the  dining-room  and  picture- 
gallery  and  the  children’s  apartments.  The  main  staircase  is  very  stately,  with 


broad  platforms  and  carved  columns  that  have  a charming  effect  from  a window 
which  opens  upon  them  from  the  library  alcove.  The  dining-room  and  picture- 
gallery  are  connected  by  archways  supported  on  delicately  ornamented  shafts. 

The  exterior  is  built  of  an  almost  white  Ohio  stone.  Its  design  recalls  a little 
that  of  the  French  chateau  of  Renaissance  times.  But  the  likeness  is  in  outline 


PLAN  OF  HOUSE  FOR  J.  J.  GLESSNER,  CHICAGO. 


only.  The  treatment  is  characteristic  of  Richardson’s  latest  manner,  to  which  a 
study  of  Byzantine  motives  gave  a much  greater  delicacy  than  had  marked  his 
earlier  work.  As  the  house  forms  but  two  sides  of  its  court-yard,  and  as  the  third 
is  formed  by  the  plain  projecting  wall  of  the  adjoining  house,  there  is  a lack  of 
completeness  in  the  effect  which  is  somewhat  disturbing.  But  despite  this  fact 
the  design  has  great  nobility  and  elegance  as  well  as  individuality,  and  clearly 
expresses  a beautiful  and  convenient  interior. 


110 


HENRY  HOBSON  lUCHARBSON, 


During  the  year  1885  Richardson  was  coininissioned  to  build  three  more  large 
city  houses  — one  in  St.  Louis  and  two  in  Chicago.  They  had  barely  been  begun 
at  the  time  of  his  death,  hut  the  illustrations  represent  his  matured  intentions 
and  the  present  aspect  of  the  huildings.  The  design  for  Mr.  Glessner’s  house  in 
Chicago  gave  Richardson  peculiar  satisfaction.  The  lot  was  of  large  size  hut 
instead  of  placing  the  house  in  the  middle  of  it  he  placed  it  on  the  street  lines 
and  threw  all  the  remaining  space  into  an  inclosed  court-yard.  Here  the  carriage- 
approach  ends  after  passing  under  a great  archway,  and  here  are  balconies  and 
loggias  upon  which  the  chief  apartments  open.  Richardson  considered  the  scheme 


SKETCH  OF  HOUSE  FOR  W.  H.  GRATWICK,  BUFFALO. 


fortunate  both  as  affording  a retirement  not  often  secured  in  our  city  dwellings 
and  as  allowing  him  to  build  on  the  side  street  one  of  those  plain  massive  walls 
in  which  he  always  delighted. 

Richardson  has  been  made  known  in  England  by  a house  which  he  designed 
just  before  his  death  for  Professor  Hid^ert  Herkomer.  It  is  possible,  howeyer, 
that  the  work  does  not  represent  him  as  well  as  we  should  wish.  The  plan  had 
already  been  decided  upon  when  he  was  asked  to  put  the  exterior  into  shape ; 
and  he  was  so  apt  to  modify  a design  in  the  process  of  construction  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  be  sure  of  the  success  of  one  which  was  not  executed  under  his  own  eye 
or  that  of  a trusted  assistant.  The  last  commission  he  accepted,  two  months 
before  his  death,  was  to  build  a house  at  Buffalo  for  Mr.  William  II . Gratwick. 

As  a class,  Richardson’s  dwelling-houses  are  less  remarkable  than  his  public 
or  his  commercial  buildings.  Yet  if  they  alone  had  borne  witness  to  his  talent  he 
would  have  proved  himself  an  artist  of  unusual  strength  and  skill.  Perhaps  no 
one  of  them  can  be  called  a perfect  example  of  success  in  its  own  direction,  as  we 
may  use  the  words  when  speaking  of  the  Quincy  Library  or  the  Pittsburgh  Court- 
house or  the  Field  Building  or  Sever  Hall.  But  his  last  houses  were  distinctly 
his  best,  and  we  may  believe  that  had  he  lived  a few  yeans  longer  he  would  have 
improved  even  upon  these.  The  greatest  obstacle  which  confronted  him  in  this 
path  was  gradually  being  overcome  — that  impulse  towards  the  massive,  grand, 
and  monumental  which  was  the  very  gift  which  made  him  great  in  other  paths. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


An  artist  cannot 
be  tested  as  we 
must  test  almost 
every  other  man 
— by  the  average 
success  of  his  re- 
sults. The  artist 
has  a right  to  be 
called  as  great  as 
his  very  greatest 
work.  Yet  the 
in  ore  frequently 
he  succeeds,  the 
higher,  of  course, 

we  esteem  his  power.  If  Richardson  had  built  nothing  good  but  the  Pittsburgh 
Court-house  he  would  still  be  entitled  to  the  name  of  a great  architect ; but  it 
is  only  when  we  consider  all  his  works  together,  as  in  a chronological  panorama, 
that  we  realize  the  strength  of  his  endowment.  ’ We  cannot  help  judging  them 
by  a stricter  standard  than  we  apply  to  the  works  of  others,  yet  even  so  we  are 
astonished  to  find  how  few  of  them  fiill  below  a level  of  great  excellence. 

The  fact  seems  the  more  remarkable  when  we  note  the  versatility  they  reveal. 
This  quality  has  sometimes  been  denied  to  Richardson  ; but  only  by  those  to  whom 
versatility  means  a constant  change  in  the  garments  of  thought,  not  a constant 
freshness  in  thought  itself.  After  his  art  matured  he  adhered  to  a single  style. 
Rut  to  deny  his  versatility  for  this  reason  is  as  unjust  as  it  would  be  to  deny  a 
poet’s  because  he  had  expressed  ideas  of  wide  diversity  in  a dramatic  or  a lyric  or 
an  epic  form  alone.  When,  moreover,  we  analyze  the  similarity  in  style  which 
marks  Richardson’s  maturer  works,  we  find  that  it  cannot  be  called  uniformity. 
It  reduces  itself  to  terms  of  very  broad  significance.  Neither  in  deciding  upon 
general  outlines  and  proportions,  nor  in  choosing  special  features,  nor  in  elaborat- 
ing details,  did  he  work  after  set  schemes  or  narrow  rules.  A man  who  could 
immediately  follow  up  so  romantic  a structure  as  Trinity  Church  with  so  sedate 
a one  as  Sever  Hall,  and  who  could  design  in  the  same  year  the  picturesquely 
varied  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  the  grandly  monotonous  Field  Building,  cannot 
be  accused  of  mannerism.  The  more  we  study  Richardson’s  works  the  more  we 
feel  that  something  deej^er  than  style  constitutes  their  individuality  — that  we 
must  look  behind  his  round  arches  and  square  - sectioned  openings,  his  stone 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 


112 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


mullions,  his  arcades  and  loggias,  and  his  Byzantinesque  decoration  to  find  the 
fundamental  qualities  which  really  reveal  him. 

These  qualities  are  : Strength  in  conception ; clearness  in  expression ; breadth 
in  treatment ; imagination ; and  a love  for  repose  and  massive  dignity  of  aspect, 
and  often  for  an  effect  which  in  the  widest  meaning  of  the  Avord  Ave  may  call 
“ romantic.”  The  first  is  the  most  fundamental  and  important  quality,  and  upon 
it  depends  to  a very  large  degree  the  in-escnce  of  the  others. 

Tlie  chief  thing  Avhich  made  Richardson’s  Avorks  alike  among  themselves  and 
unlike  the  AVorks  of  almost  all  his  contemporaries  Avas  his  poAver  to  conceive  a 
building  as  a Avhole,  and  to  preserve  the  integrity  of  his  conception  no  matter  hoAV 
various  might  he  the  features  or  hoAv  profuse  the  decoration  he  employed.  Each 
of  his  host  buildings  is  an  organism,  an  entity,  a coherent  vital  Avhole.  Reduce  it 
by  distance  to  a mere  silhouette  against  the  sky,  or  draAV  it  doAvn  to  a thumb-nail 
sketch,  and  it  Avill  still  he  the  same,  still  he  itself;  yet  the  nearer  Ave  approach  it 
the  more  its  individuality  Avill  he  emphasized.  This  is  because  its  character  de- 
pends upon  no  one  feature,  no  one  line,  hut  upon  the  concord  of  all  and  the  vigor 
of  the  impression  Avhich  all  together  give.  No  feature  is  of  dominant  imjAortance, 
hut  each  is  of  the  right  relative  importance  from  any  given  point  of  vioAV,  and  all 
are  vitally  fused  together ; — the  building  seems  to  have  groAvn,  developed,  ex- 
panded like  a plant.  We  cannot  dismember  it  in  thought  Avithout  hurting  both 
Avhat  Ave  leave  and  Avhat  Ave  take  aAvay ; and  Avhether  avc  study  it  up  or  doAvn  — 
from  particulars  to  generals  or  from  generals  to  particulars  — there  is  no  point 
Avhere  conception  seems  to  end  and  mere  treatment  to  begin.  It  would  be  as 
impossible,  Avithout  injuring  the  conception,  to  change  the  surface  character  of  the 
Avails  or  the  distribution  of  the  ornament,  as  to  alter  the  relative  proportions  of 
Avails  and  roof  or  the  size  and  position  of  the  chief  constructional  features.  When 
these  facts  are  perceived  together  Avith  the  great  dificrence  in  general  aim  which 
exists  hetAveen  Richardson’s  best  buildings,  his  versatility  is  by  implication  con- 
fessed. It  matters  nothing  that  he  drenv  from  the  same  historic  source  most  of 
the  elements  Avith  Avhich  he  built  church  and  Avarehouse,  civic  palace  and  country 
cottage.  In  each  case  a radically  different  idea  Avas  needed  and  in  each  case  it 
came  to  him. 

In  each  case,  too,  it  came  as  a strikingly  appropriate  idea.  While  conceiving 
and  developing  a structure  as  a Avhole,  he  Avorked  from  the  inside  out,  not  from 
the  outside  in.  The  nature  of  the  service  it  should  render  Avas  his  first  thought, 
its  plan  his  next ; and  these  rule  his  exterior  in  its  major  and  its  minor  features. 
AYe  do  not  find  him  taking  schemes  or  features  Avhich  Avere  heautiful  because 
appropriate  in  one  building  and  trying  to  make  them  beautiful  in  another  at  the 
expense  of  fitness ; and  there  is  no  favorite  feature  he  does  not  sacrifice  if  fitness 
demands  — not  the  last  trace  of  decoration,  not  the  visible  roof  Avhich  he  loved  to 
make  so  prominent,  nor  the  round  arch  itself.  Of  course  he  sometimes  sinned 
against  perfect  appropriateness  of  expression,  but  his  slips  Avere  foAV,  and  the  longer 
he  lived  the  rarer  they  became.  Here  lies  the  true  greatness  of  Richardson’s 
Avorks  — in  the  fixet  that  they  are  true  conceptions,  clearly  expressing  an  idea  as 
appropriate  as  vigorous.  The  great  value  of  the  Quincy  Library,  for  instance,  or 
of  the  Pittsburgh  Court-house,  or — at  the  other  end  of  the  scale  ^ — of  the  Marion 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 


113 


cottage,  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  a coherent  vital  entity  and  at  the  same  time  a 
siDeaking  entity  — unmistakably  a library,  a municipal  palace,  a gentleman’s  seaside 
home. 

Another  fundamental  quality  in  Richardson’s  work  is  breadth  of  treatment.  It 
is  this  which  gives  his  results  their  air  of  “ bigness  ” — not  the  actual  size  which 
in  many  of  them  chances  to  be  great.  Artistically  speaking,  his  smallest  structures 
are  as  big  as  his  largest,  and  they  are  so  because  they  are  as  largely  treated. 
Whatever  his  faults  he  never  worked  in  a small,  hesitating,  feeble  way.  Clear- 
ness in  aim  and  strength  in  rendering  were  the  gods  of  his  idolatry  in  art.  If 
combined  with  refinement,  so  much  the  better ; if  not,  they  were  still  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  refinement  without  them.  We  are  siire  that  he  excused  the  faults  of 
a Rubens  on  canvas,  of  a Michael  Angelo  in  architecture,  but  never  those  of  a 
painter  who  had  microscopically  elaborated  a weak  conception,  of  an  architect  who 
had  delicately  adorned  a fabric  that  was  not  in  the  true  sense  a building.  In  his 
own  work  he  was  over-exuberant  at  times,  but,  so  to  say,  with  a broad  brush  and  a 
vigorous  touch,  and  with  that  truly  architectural  instinct  which  makes  ornament 
accentuate  the  meaning  of  constructional  lines.  Of  course  it  was  the  strength 
of  his  basic  conception  which  encouraged  him  to  be  thus  broad  and  definite  in 
treatment.  There  was  no  temptation  to  fritter  away  his  effect  when  he  felt  that 
his  fundamental  idea  would  impress  the  imagination  and  charm  the  eye.  There 
was  every  reason  why  he  should  present  this  idea  as  frankly  as  possible,  either 
in  bold  simplicity  or  with  lavish  decoration  which  emphasized  leading  lines  and 
important  features.  I have  said  that  the  greatness  of  his  work  rests  first  of  all 
upon  the  strength  and  the  appropriateness  of  his  conceptions ; but  perhaps  the 
breadth  of  treatment  through  which  they  were  exj^ressed  is  as  important  a quality. 
Certainly  it  is  as  rare  a quality  in  modern  art. 

The  strong  imaginative  power  which  Richardson’s  works  reveal  should  perhaps 
not  be  called  a separate  characteristic,  being  implied  in  the  existence  of  those  just 
named.  Yet  we  realize  it  most  fully  when  Ave  understand  not  only  how  strong  and 
vital  his  conceptions  are  and  how  unlike  each  other,  but  how  unlike  they  most 
often  are  to  the  conceptions  of  any  earlier  day  or  of  modern  men  in  any  other  land. 
He  took  the  elements  of  the  language  with  Avhich  he  voiced  his  thoughts  from 
other  thinkers,  but  his  thoughts  Avere  his  OAvn.  Whenever  fitness  demanded  — 
and  with  our  novel  needs  this  Avas  very  often  the  case  — he  took  counsel  of  his 
OAvn  imagination,  began  at  the  bottom  of  the  jAroblem,  and  produced  a result  Avhich 
differed  essentially  from  all  others.  Yet  he  Avas  too  true  an  artist  to  prize  novel- 
ties as  such,  and  he  had  too  strong  a faith  in  the  individuality  of  his  talent  to  fear 
that  if  he  Avere  not  “ original  ” he  would  not  seem  himself.  He  never  needlessly 
sought  for  a neAv  conception.  It  could  never  have  occurred  to  him  to  Avish  merely 
to  do  something  unlike  Avhat  his  predecessors  had  done  or  Avhat  he  himself  had 
already  done.  When  a jAroblem  presented  itself  Avhich  Avas  similar  to  some  pre- 
ceding problem,  he  frankly  re-adapted  the  same  idea  Avliich  had  already  served. 
His  versatility  develojAed  in  the  only  Avay  that  it  could  have  developed  hand-in- 
hand  Avith  excellence  — through  the  effort  to  fulfill  the  given  task  in  the  best  pos- 
sible manner,  to  find  clear  and  full  expression  for  the  appropriate  idea. 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


lU 


Wlien  such  qualities  as  these  are  found  conspicuous  and  persistent  in  an  artist’s 
■work,  his  choice  of  style  seems  a matter  of  secondary  importance.  His  thoughts 
have  made  his  -work  great  and  individual,  not  the  language  in  which  he  has 
expressed  them.  Yet  Richardson’s  choice  of  language,  was  by  no  means  fortuitous 
or  without  deep  and  interesting  significance.  It  is  true  that  working  in  some 
other  style  he  might  as  clearly  have  shown  us  the  value  of  definiteness  in  concep- 
tion and  breadth  in  treatment,  of  harmonious  effects  of  color  and  strong  effects  of 
light  and  shade  ; the  beauty  of  a roof,  the  meaning  of  a wall ; the  nature ’of  good 
surfiice  treatment  and  of  decoration  which  explains  construction.  But  his  chosen 
style  was  essentially  favorable  to  the  teaching  of  such  lessons,  as  well  as  to  the 
display  of  that  romantic  kind  of  beauty  for  which  he  had  so  strong  a liking.  And 
better  than  any  other  style  it  could  meet  his  fundamental  love  for  massiveness 
and  repose.^ 

When  he  recognized  the  serviceableness  of  its  forms  he  instinctively  preferred 
to  study  them  in  their  southern  developments.  His  temperament  was  essentially 
a southern  one  — loving  breadth  and  light  and  color,  yariety  and  luxuriance,  not 
cold  grandeur,  solemnity,  and  mystery.  Refinement  was  not  one  of  his  most  fun- 
damental qualities  as  an  artist.  Yet  his  steady  development  towards  a refined 
simplicity  coidd  not  have  had  its  starting-point  in  a paraphrase  of  Norman  work. 
It  could  only  have  begun  with  such  a paraphrase  of  southern  Romanesque  as  we 
•see  in  the  Woburn  Library. 

In  matters  of  treatment  Richardson’s  attitude  towards  the  precedents  of  ancient 
art  was  the  same  as  in  matters  of  conception.  He  studied  them  with  love  and 
care  but  in  no  slavish,  idolatrous  mood,  and  from  a practical  or  purely  aesthetic, 
not  from  an  antiquarian  standpoint.  He  viewed  them  as  the  work  of  men  of 
like  nature  with  himself,  not  of  demi-gods  inspired  to  a quality  of  performance 
which  modern  men  need  not  try  to  improve  upon.  They  were  helps  for  him  not 
fetishes,  starting-points  not  patterns.  What  he  wanted  was  their  aid  in  building 
a good  structure,  not  their  prescriptions  how  to  build  a “ scholarly  ” one.  He 
looked  upon  them  as  a dictionary  not  as  a grammar,  and  still  less  as  a collection 
of  attractive  features  which  might  be  stowed  awaiy  in  the  mind  like  quotations 
isolated  from  their  context.  None  of  his  pupils  ever  heard  him  say,  “ This  is  a 
charming  thing  — some  day  we  must  manage  to  use  it.”  The  context,  he  knew, 
was  what  made  the  worth  of  an  architectural  phrase.  Only  when  a man  is  sure  of 


^ By  repose  is  not  here  imjilied  quietness  in  the  sense 
of  simplicity  of  surface  and  a moderate  number  of  fea- 
tures, but  structural  repose  — repose  of  line  and  mass,  re- 
pose in  the  form  of  features ; and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  Richardson  could  best  secure  this  quality  by  develop- 
ing the  suggestions  of  Romanesque  art.  Greek  art,  mak- 
ing all  its  lines  straight  and  its  horizontal  accentuations 
preponderant,  does  not  express  repose  so  much  as  great 
strength  gracefully  hearing  a downward  pressing  load. 
We  realize  the  fact  when  we  study  Egyptian  art,  which  is 
similar  in  essence  to  Greek,  minus  the  grace.  Gothic  art, 
accenting  vertical  lines,  actually  expresses  motion  — an 
upward  lifting  as  of  a growing  tree ; so  much  so  that 
when,  as  in  its  Venetian  forms,  it  strives  to  be  more  rest- 
ful, we  feel  that  it  is  not  really  itself,  that  it  is  trying  to 
achieve  a result  which  could  have  been  more  perfectly 


secured  with  round  arches.  Roman  art,  when  it  passed 
from  the  engineer’s  into  the  artist’s  hand,  was  not  a simple 
concrete  scheme,  but  a splendid  bastard  mingling  of  two 
alien  schemes.  Only  when  it  was  again  stripped  of  its 
Greek  overlay  did  it  clearly  reveal  its  intrinsic  qualities. 
It  is  in  Romanesque  art  only,  and  in  those  early  Renais- 
sance modes  which  were  directly  based  upon  it,  that  we 
find  that  balance  between  vertical  and  horizontal  accentu- 
ations which  means  perfect  repose.  The  semicircle  de- 
mands neither  that  ascending  lines  nor  that  retreating 
lines  shall  preponderate  ; and  in  itself  it  is  neither  passive 
like  the  lintel  nor  soaring  like  the  pointed  arch.  It  seems 
to  have  grown  to  its  due  bearing  power  and  thus  to  re- 
main, vital  yet  restful,  making  no  effort  either  to  resist 
downward  pressure  or  to  press  upward  itself. 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 


115 


the  general  meaning  he  wants  to  express,  the  general  effect  he  wants  to  produce, 
can  he  turn  to  his  predecessors  for  assistance. 

In  minor  as  in  major  matters  Richardson  invented  when  he  was  obliged  to  and 
borrowed  when  he  could.  He  took  the  Romanesque  art  of  the  south  of  France  as 
his  chief  but  not  as  his  only  quarry.  He  was  ready  to  draw  from  other  sources  any 
special  features  which  a special  need  required ; — later  mediasval  fashions  furnished 
him  with  much  material  at  the  outset  of  his  life,  and  towards  its  end  he  was  more 
and  more  attracted  by  Byzantine  forms  and  decorations.  Whatever  he  took  he 
remodeled  as  freely  as  he  saw  fit,  and  there  was  no  more  effort  to  conceal  his  alter- 
ings  than  his  borrowings.  What  he  wished  was  simply  that  to  an  intelligent  eye 
his  work  should  look  right  in  the  outcome  ; and  if  it  did,  then  he  knew  it  was 
right,  though  to  a dull  eye  it  might  seem  a copy  or  though  to  an  antiquarian  eye 
all  the  precedents  of  all  the  ages  might  seem  to  protest  against  it.  Sometimes,  of 
course,  he  was  not  entirely  successful  in  his  adaptations.  But  often  he  was,  as  in 
that  tower  of  Trinity,  the  genesis  of  which  has  been  described  at  length  because  it 
so  clearly  typifies  his  constant  way  of  working.  No  one  could  mistake  this  tower 
for  an  ancient  one,  wherever  it  might  chance  to  stand.  Yet  the  impression  it  pro- 
duces is  similar  to  that  which  good  ancient  works  produce  — an  impression  as  of 
a vital,  homogeneous  entity.  And,  it  cannot  be  too  often  said,  this  is  the  impres- 
sion made  by  all  of  Richardson’s  best  structures.  Therefore,  the  more  eclecticism 
apiDears  when  they  are  analyzed,  the  more  cheering  is  their  evidence  with  regard 
to  the  future  of  our  art.  In  nothing  did  Richardson  do  us  better  service  than  in 
23i’oving  that  the  modern  artist  need  not  be  cowed  into  a j^urist,  straightened  into 
an  archseologist,  crani2:)ed  and  confined  within  the  limits  of  a single  narrow  stretch 
of  by-gone  years  — or,  on  the  other  hand,  thrown  wholly  on  his  own  inventive 
jDOwers  — if  he  would  do  work  to  satisfy  and  delight  us  as  the  men  of  early  years 
satisfied  and  delighted  themselves.  The  tendencies  of  American  art  have  been 
chiefly  towards  a reckless  inventiveness.  Those  of  foreign  art  are  too  strongly 
towards  mere  scholasticism.  But  Richardson,  keej^ihg  to  a middle  i)ath,  worked 
as  those  whom  we  call  the  demi-gods  had  worked.  Eclecticism  is  more  patent  in 
his  results  than  in  theirs,  for  the  store  of  j^recedents  which  lay  open  to  him  was 
vastly  wider  than  that  uf)on  which  any  of  them  could  draw.  But  in  sj^irit  his 
process  was  the  same  as  theirs.  Many  other  modern  artists  have  shared  this  spirit 
theoretically  but  very  few  have  had  the  jDower  to  exj)ress  it  in  work  which  can  be 
com23ared  with  his  for  excellence.  Few,  indeed,  have  had  the  boldness  to  atteni])t 
the  task  as  frankly.  It  is  hard  to  say  which  hict  proves  Richardson’s  indei)endcnce 
of  mind  and  self-trust  more  — the  fact  that  he  dared  so  visibly  to  borrow  the  gen- 
eral scheme  of  so  famous  a j)iece  of  work  as  the  Salamanca  tower,  or  the  fact  that 
having  borrowed  it  he  dared  to  remould  it  with  so  radical  a hand.  One  success 
of  this  kind  is  a better  lesson  for  after-comers  than  a hundred  correct  and  schol- 
arly 2)lagiarisms.  Nor  need  we  ask  the  antiquary  whether  or  no  it  is  a success. 
Perhaps  he  might  say  that  the  builders  of  Salamanca  would  not  have  ai)i)roved 
of  the  tower  of  Trinity.  But  very  likely  the  builders  of  the  Parthenon  or  even 
of  the  Pantheon  would  not  have  approved  of  Salamanca.  The  world  has  had 
too  much  — infinitely  too  much  — of  such  ai)pcals  to  the  artistic  conscience  of 
the  past.  It  is  time  to  remember  that  the  j)ast  itself  never  had  an}"  artistic 


IIG 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


conscience  except  that  of  the  enrrent  age,  and  that  we  in  our  turn  should  make 
the  present  onr  judge  — or  that  if  we  look  outside  the  present  it  should  be  forward 
and  not  back.  The  true  question  to  be  asked  with  regard  to  work  like  Richard- 
son’s is  whether  it  has  those  fiindamental  qualities  of  harinony,  vitality,  appropri- 
ateness, meaning,  and  beauty  which  will  make  it  seem  good  in  the  eyes  of  men 
born  seven  hundred  years  from  now.  How  it  would  have  looked  in  the  eyes  of 
men  born  seven  hundred  years  ago  — incapable  of  understanding  onr  conditions, 
of  sympathizing  with  our  tastes,  of  seeing  the  currents  which  have  been  all  this 
time  at  Avork  in  science  and  in  art  — is  indeed  a matter  of  small  concern. 

Yet,  as  has  been  hinted,  there  is  another  danger  besides  that  which  lies  in  an 
overweening  respect  for  the  past.  W e Americans  are  more  ready  than  the  rest  of 
the  Avorld  to  acknoAvledge  that  adaptation,  not  imitation,  should  be  the  artist’s  for- 
mula. But  Ave  do  not  realize  all  that  is  meant  by  our  oavii  Avords  when  we  add 
that  of  course  adaptation  must  be  sensible  and  skillful.  We  do  not  realize  that  it 
needs  not  only  more  poAver  but  more  knoAvledge  and  labor  to  adapt  well  than  to 
copy  AA  ell.  Here  again  Richardson’s  example  is  infinitely  instructive.  He  adapted 
Avell  — so  Avell  that  the  process  Avas  a creative  one  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  Avord 
— because  he  had  thoroughly  studied  the  principles  of  his  art,  and  because  he 
practiced  it  Avith  an  exceptional  degree  of  love  and  patience. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 

W ITH  regard  to  the 
benefit  which  Richardson 
received  from  his  long 
early  training,  I cannot 
do  better  than  quote  the 
words  of  a brother  archi- 
tect : ^ — 

“ Richardson  stands  as 
a beacon  light  before  the 
community,  not  only  as  a 
producer  of  distinguished 
architecture,  but  as  a 
warning  to  impatient  aspirants  and  their  guardians  against  loose  fancies  on  the 
subject  of  the  education  of  the  architect.  He  was  no  exemplar  of  the  popular 
notion  that  all  that  creative  genius  has  to  do  is  to  stretch  forth  its  hand,  however 
untrained,  to  accomplish  everything  that  its  heaven-born  instinct  impels  it  to. 
Poeta  nascitur,  non  Jit,  it  is  true,  but  once  horn  he  cannot  voice  himself  without 
mastering  the  symbols  and  signs  of  expression,  and  the  more  completely  he  mas- 
ters them  the  more  thoroughly  and  recognizably  he  will  project  himself.  When 
once  Richardson  had  passed  through  the  chrysalis  stage,  he  could  not  help  design- 
ing in  a grand  way  because  he  was  a man  of  large  calibre,  of  broad  scope,  and  of 
lavish  temperament.  But  he  served  a long  apprenticeship,  quite  beyond  the 
twelve  or  twenty-four  months  assigned  by  the  average  American  parent  as  the 
unproductive  pupillary  stage  of  the  gifted  offsjiring.  . . . The  Ecole  course  tends 
chiefly  ...  to  classic  Renaissance  expression,  but  that  counted  for  little.  The 
main  thing  is  to  get  the  discipline.  The  teacher’s  bias  is  nearly  immaterial. 
Richardson’s  bent  led  him  before  long  to  handle  the  grammar  of  a certain  archi- 
tectural school  closer  than  any  other,  though  he  almost  always  allowed  himself 
entire  freedom  in  the  handling.  But  if  by  any  chance  his  instincts  or  moods  had 
led  him  to  take  hold  of  some  other  vehicle  of  expression  than  the  one  which  soon 
became  his  choice,  his  training,  we  may  be  sure,  would  have  stood  him  in  equally 
good  stead,  and  he  would  have  equally  mastered  and  equally  illustrated  it.” 

It  is  more  difficult  to  explain  the  patient  enthusiasm  of  Richardson’s  labor  to 
those  who  never  had  the  chance  to  follow  — either  at  the  time  or  afterwards  in 
drawings  and  descriptions  — the  genesis  of  one  of  his  great  structures.  When  a 
new  problem  appealed  to  him,  some  definite  idea  of  a solution  was  very  quickly 

^ A.  J.  Bloor,  ill  The  Building  Budget,  July,  1886. 


118 


HENFiY  HOBSON  BICHAEDSON 


born.  But  he  was  not  quick  to  call  it  a good  idea  except  in  so  far  as  it  might 
seem  rich  in  possibilities  of  improvement.  Speaking  of  some  fresh  scheme  he 
often  said,  “It  is  good,  is  n’t  it  t But  I mean  to  make  it  better.  I don’t  see 
how  just  yet,  but  I shall  find  out.”  Meanwhile  he  seemed  less  to  think  about 
it  than  to  wait  for  suggestions  to  present  themselves.  “ I wait,”  he  would  say, 
“ and  go  to  bed  on  it,  and  carry  it  about  with  me  while  I am  doing  other  things, 
and  don’t  try  to  worry  it  out ; and  then  after  a while  it  comes.”  The  artist  as 
opposed  to  the  manufacturer  of  art  speaks  in  words  like  these ; but  it  is  only  the 
well-trained  artist  who  can  be  thus  semi-passive  to  good  purpose,  and  who,  when 
the  inspiration  has  come,  will  realize  that  it  is  but  the  beginning  of  the  matter. 
Richardson  never  forgot  that  only  time  and  efibrt  can  turn  a “good  idea”  into  a 
good  piece  of  work.  It  has  been  shown  — though  only  in  part  — how  he  labored 
over  Trinity  Church,  and  how  different  its  present  asj^ect  is  from  his  first  designs. 
So  he  always  labored  — not  too  proud  to  see  when  he  had  started  wrong  or  too 
indolent  to  begin  afresh,  never  satisfied  with  a thing  which  others  found  good  if 
he  could  better  it,  never  feeling  himself  beyond  the  necessity  for  a perpetual  self- 
criticism  broad  in  reach  and  minute  in  application,  always  open  to  fresh  inspira- 
tions, always  ready  to  take  intelligent  hints  from  his  subordinates,  always  eager 
and  ardent  yet  always  trying  to  check  impulse  by  reason.  As  his  intelligence 
developed  and  his  experience  increased,  his  processes  grew  quicker  and,  naturally, 
left  behind  them  less  conspicuous  traces  than  have  been  preserved  in  the  case  of 
Trinity.  But  they  were  always  the  same  processes  and  always  brought  increase 
of  excellence,  as  may  be  seen  by  comparing  the  competitive  designs  for  the  Pitts- 
burgh Court-house  with  the  finished  building. 

“About  a fortnight  before  Richardson’s  death,”  writes  Mr.  Frederick  Law 
Olmsted,  “ I was  with  him  in  Washington,  and  it  is  remarkable  that  he  was  led  to 
speak  in  this  last  intervieAV  that  I had  with  him  of  a point  of  professional  economy 
of  Avhich  he  had  been  led  to  speak  (by  seeing  a lot  of  rough  tracings  on  a draAving- 
board)  the  first  time  he  came  to  my  house  fifteen  years  before. 

“When  I came  into  his  room  in  Washington  he  was  in  a reclining-chair,  so 
exhausted  after  an  attempt  to  take  the  air  in  a carriage  that  he  had  been  for  some 
time,  as  he  explained,  on  the  verge  of  losing  consciousness.  His  eyes  Avere  blood- 
shot, his  face  red,  his  forehead  studded  Avith  beads  of  sweat.  He  spoke  feebly, 
hesitatingly,  and  Avith  a scarcely  intelligible  husky  utterance.  While  in  this  con- 
dition — I had  been  urging  him  and  he  had  promised  to  go  home  the  next  day  — 
a client  came  in.  Something  Avas  said  of  the  draAvings  of  the  structure  Richard- 
son Avas  building  for  him,  and  then  of  the  many  successive  draAvings  that  had  been 
made,  revising  the  preliminary  studies,  the  design  ahvays  gaining  as  a turn  of  one 
detail  led  to  the  reconsideration  of  another,  the  gain  being,  as  Avas  intimated, 
steadily  in  the  direction  of  simplification.  Going  on  from  this,  Richardson  re- 
peated Avhat  he  had  first  said  to  me  at  Staten  Island.  This  Avas,  in  effect,  that  the 
most  beguiling  and  dangerous  of  all  an  architect’s  appliances  Avas  the  T-square, 
and  the  most  valuable  Avere  tracing-paper  and  india-rubber.  Nothing  like  tracing 
over  tracing,  a hundred  times.  There  Avas  no  virtue  in  an  architect  more  to  be 
cultivated  and  cherished  than  a willing  spirit  to  Avaste  draAvings.  Never,  never, 
till  the  thing  was  in  stone  beyond  recovery,  should  the  slightest  indisposition  be 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 


119 


indulged  to  review,  reconsider,  and  revise  every  particle  of  his  work,  to  throw 
away  his  most  enjoyed  drawing  the  moment  he  felt  it  in  him  to  better  its  design. 

“ From  something  like  this  he  went  on  discussing  for  the  better  j^art  of  an 
hour,  growing  to  sit  up  erect,  his  voice  becoming  clear,  his  utterance  emphatic, 
his  eyes  flashing,  smiling,  laughing  like  a hoy,  really  hilarious,  much  as  in  some  of 
our  all-night  debates  years  ago  in  Albany  when  he  was  yet  a lithe,  active,  healthy 
fellow.  I was  afraid  it  would  he  too  much  for  him,  and,  rising  to  go,  said,  ‘ Eid- 
litz  asked  me  to  let  him  know  how  I found  you  : I shall  have  to  tell  him,  never 
better  in  your  life  ; ’ and  he  laughingly  assented.” 

One  23hrase  of  Richardson’s,  repeated  here,  hints  at  something  which  it  is  impor- 
tant to  make  jDlain.  An  architect’s  revisings,  he  believed,  should  never  end  until 
his  building  is  “ in  stone,  beyond  recovery ; ” and  he  exemi^lifled  this  belief  by 
altering  much  and  often  after  construction  had  been  actually  begun.  No  one  could 
have  used  j)rej3aratory  pencil  and  pajoer  more  conscientiously,  yet  it  was  one  of  his 
firmest  dogmas  that  they  could  not  be  imj)licitly  trusted.  If  his  scorn  was  great 
for  the  recklessness  which  says.  No  matter  about  the  drawings  ^ — we  can  set  things 
right  as  we  build,  it  would  have  been  just  as  great  for  the  closet-spirit  which 
should  say.  No  matter  how  the  work  is  looking  as  it  grows  — it  was  all  right  on 
pajDer.  “ The  architect,”  he  often  exjDlained,  “ acts  on  his  building,  but  his  build- 
ing reacts  on  him  — helps  to  build  itself.  His  work  is  plastic  work,  and,  like  the 
sculjitor’s,  cannot  be  finished  in  a drawing.  It  cannot  be  fully  judged  excejDt  in 
concrete  shape  and  color,  amid  actual  lights  and  shadows  and  its  own  f>articular 
surroundings  ; and  if  when  it  is  begun  it  fails  to  look  as  it  should,  it  is  not  only 
the  architect’s  privilege  but  his  duty  to  alter  it  in  any  way  he  can.”  Therefore 
he  kept  his  judgment  awake  until  his  last  stone  was  set  and  his  last  touch  of  dec- 
oration had  been  given.  Therefore,  too,  he  thought  needful  those  long  frequent 
hurried  journeys  which  must  have  done  so  much  to  sap  his  strength.  His  rejire- 
sentatives  on  the  ground  were  cajDable  and  conscientious.  He  knew  that  he  could 
trust  them  to  carry  out  a design  quite  faithfully.  But  he  could  trust  only  his  own 
eye  to  see  whether  the  design  was  carrying  itself  out  well  or  not,  and  so  would 
leave  the  sick-room  to  find  how  some  far-off  building  looked  which  he  had  seen 
but  a few  weeks  before.  As  long  as  he  possibly  could  he  kept  up  his  custom  of 
making  monthly  tours  through  all  the  distant  towns  where  he  had  work  under 
way  ; and  when  journeys  were  at  last  forbidden  he  sent  one  of  his  chief  assistants 
to  bring  him  back  verbal  rejiorts,  and  exacted  daily  detailed  letters  by  means  of 
which  he  could  follow  the  placing  of  every  stone. 

There  are  many  architects,  I believe,  who  hold  a different  creed  from  the  one 
which  Richardson  exemplified.  They  jDoint  with  pride  to  the  exact  correspond- 
ence between  their  studies  and  their  completed  buildings  while  Richardson 
delighted  to  exj^lain  the  disj^arities  in  his.  It  would  he  idle  to  try  to  lay  down 
rules  of  right  and  wrong  as  decisive  between  such  opposite  ways  of  thinking  ; yet 
the  j)aramount  success  of  Richardson’s  results  should  at  least  he  taken  into  account 
by  those  whose  own  theories  and  methods  are  not  yet  established. 

The  chief  faults  which  have  been  charged  against  Richardson  as  an  artist  are : 
Extravagance ; a willingness  to  secure  a striking  effect  at  the  cost  of  conscientious 


120 


IIENFiY  HOBSON  lUClIARDSON 


care  for  all  parts  of  a building  ; a neglect  for  the  expression  of  construction  ; and 
a lack  of  rcfineincnt. 

In  one  sense  Richardson  was  certainly  extravagant  — or,  to  speak  more  exactly, 
lavish.  He  always  wished  to  spend  enough  money  on  a building  to  make  it  per- 
fect, and  his  ideas  of  perfection  were  high.  In  consequence,  he  often  persuaded 
his  clients  into  a larger  outlay  than  they  had  anticipated.  But  if  thus  to  persuade 
clients  is  not  exactly  a virtue  it  is  at  least  a common  sin  — a sin  into  which 
almost  every  artist  falls  who  has  any  skill  in  argument.  And  Richardson  was  not 
extravagant  in  the  sense  of  wasting  the  money  he  secured.  Few  of  his  clients 
will  deny  that,  whether  or  no  they  were  right  in  sj)ending  so  much  money,  they 
received  a fidl  return  in  greater  beauty  for  the  greater  outlay. 

His  ideas  of  perfection,  I rejDcat,  were  high.  They  often  included  the  richest 
decoration  and  always  that  solidity  which  means  costly  methods  of  construction. 
His  railroad  stations  cost  a great  deal  more  than  had  ever  before  been  paid  for  sta- 
tions of  their  size  ; his  commercial  structures  were  built  throughout  of  stone ; 
and  his  Capitol  apartments  are  sumptuous  to  an  unj^recedented  degree.  But  in 
neither  case  did  he  Avaste  money  in  realizing  an  aim  which  might  have  been  more 
cheaply  realized,  and  in  neither  Avas  the  aim  inappropriate  to  the  purpose  of  the 
building.  It  is  true  that  his  stations  might  have  been  cheaper  and  still  have  been 
good ; but  it  is  not  true  that  if  they  had  been  cheaper  they  Avould  have  been  as 
beautiful,  still  less  that  they  ought  to  have  been  cheaper  in  order  to  be  excellent. 
The  case  is  just  the  same  Avith  his  commercial  work  if  Ave  take  the  Field  Building 
as  representative  of  his  full  doA^elopment ; and  even  the  Capitol  apartments  are 
not  too  sumptuous  for  the  fitting  accommodation  of  the  representatives  of  a com- 
moiiAvealth  so  rich  and  poAverful  as  Ncav  York.  They  might  have  been  less  costly 
but  there  is  no  intrinsic,  artistic  reason  Avhy  they  should  have  been. 

It  should  also  be  said  that  cases  Avere  not  rare  in  Avhich  Richardson  paid  the 
closest  regard  to  questions  of  economy.  The  very  Ioav  cost  of  his  successful  little 
house  at  Marion  has  been  referred  to,  and  his  other  country  houses  Avere  also 
cheap  considering  their  excellence.  The  Baptist  Church  at  NcAvton  Avas  given  to 
him  to  build  after  several  other  architects  had  decided  that  no  good  church  could 
be  built  for  the  stipulated  sum  ; and  he  built  it  throughout  of  stone.  Even  the 
Field  Building  Avould  have  been  much  less  costly  had  he  carried  out  the  first 
intention,  Avhich  he  thoroughly  approved,  and  constructed  it  of  brick.  It  Avas 
in  ansAA  er  to  his  client’s  Avish  that  he  substituted  stone  and  recast  the  draAvings 
he  had  already  jArepared.^  He  did  not  often  insist  upon  the  costlier  material  as 
an  absolute  necessity  ; but  Avhen  the  character  of  the  building  permitted  he  Avas 
ahvays  eager  to  use  it,  and  he  always  did  insist  upon  some  kind  of  material  and 
of  treatment  Avhich  should  be  commensurate  in  dignity  Avith  the  given  place  and 
purpose. 

We  have  very  good  reason,  therefore,  to  rejoice  that  Richardson  often  secured 
the  chance  to  make  his  buildings  as  sumptuous  as  appropriateness  alloAved.  Our 
public  needed  to  be  taught  tAvo  complementary  truths  — that  architectural  excel- 
lence need  not  ahvays  be  costly,  and  that  some  kinds  of  architectural  excellence 
cannot  be  cheap.  It  needed  a sight  of  beautiful  simplicity  to  conAunce  it  that 

^ As  it  stands  the  Field  Building  cost  $800,000.  The  Chamber  of  Commerce  will  cost  about  $500,000. 


CHARACTERISTICS  AS  AN  ARTIST 


121 


neither  nakedness  nor  cheap  elaboration  should  ever  be  allowed ; but  it  also 
needed  a sight  of  really  rich  monumental  beauty  to  convince  it  that  niggardly 
attempts  at  grandeur  are  absurd. 

The  charge  that  Richardson  was  apt  to  neglect  some  parts  of  his  buildings  in 
order  to  secure  the  effectiveness  of  other  parts  seems  merely  to  mean  a belief 
that  his  exteriors  are  more  complete  and  beautiful  than  his  interiors.  No  belief 
could  be  more  mistaken  ; — as  a rule  they  are  quite  as  carefully  conceived  and 
quite  as  carefully  completed.  They  show  the  same  harmony  between  part  and 
part  and  the  same  uniting  of  all  parts  to  produce  a single  impression.  In  this 
respect  their  influence  has  been  very  good,  especially  as  regards  those  private  inte- 
riors where  we  are  apt  to  think  that  interest  must  mean  variety,  and  that  the 
character  of  different  ajiartments  cannot  be  explained  without  a change  of  style. 
Richardson  always  made  his  interiors  consistent  in  style,  and,  whenever  he  had  his 
own  way,  he  made  them  as  beautiful  as  consistency  to  the  exteriors  prescribed. 
That  this  fact  is  too  commonly  disputed  is  due  in  part  to  ignorance  — an  exterior 
is  much  more  often  seen  than  an  interior  and  much  more  often  portrayed  ; but  it 
is  also  due  in  part  to  the  j^erennial  temiDtation  which  besets  a critic  to  dAvell  more 
upon  occasional  failures  than  upon  frequent  virtues.  Some  of  Richardson’s  inte- 
riors are  certainly  bare  and  j)oor  in  effect  as  compared  with  the  outside  of  the 
buildings,  and  a great  deal  has  been  said  about  the  most  conspicuous  case  in  point 

— the  Albany  City  Hall.  Richardson  explained  this  case  by  saying  that  as  the 
money  at  command  was  not  sufficient  to  make  the  whole  building  what  it  should 
have  been,  he  preferred  to  j^erfect  the  exterior  at  the  exjDense  of  the  interior 
rather  than  let  both  suffer  together  ; and  he  would  have  held  a similar  exj^lana- 
tion  good  in  any  other  case,  although  I think  that  with  a dwelling-house  he  would 
have  chosen  the  interior  as  entitled  to  his  preference.  Whether  it  is  a justifiable 
explanation  or  not  — whether  it  argues  a right  adherence  to  his  artistic  ideals  or 
an  excessive  wish  to  show  himself  at  his  best  — is  a question  that  the  reader  can 
decide  for  himself.  But  it  includes  the  whole  question  as  to  Richardson’s  artistic 
conscientiousness.  No  one  can  think  that  he  willingly  neglected  or  degraded  any 
part  of  any  piece  of  work,  or  that  he  was  unable  to  see  when  any  part  failed  to 
equal  the  rest.  There  are  mistakes  in  his  buildings,  of  course,  and  they  are 
sometimes  of  a sort  which  seems  to  sacrifice  a practical  to  an  artistic  requirement 

— as  when  we  find  that  one  or  two  of  his  libraries  and  stations  are  not  quite 
well  enough  lighted,  and  remember  his  love  for  broad,  plain  fields  of  wall  and 
for  heavy  mullions  and  transoms.  But  I do  not  think  there  is  any  j:>roof  that  he 
ever  made  such  mistakes  of  deliberate  intention  ; and  they  did  not  occur  in  his 
latest  years. 

In  how  far  Richardson  sinned  against  architectural  ethics  by  concealing  or 
misrepresenting  his  constructional  expedients  is  too  technical  a question  to  be 
examined  here.  It  may  be  said,  however,  that  the  charge  seems  to  rest  solely 
upon  his  treatment  of  the  interior  of  Trinity  Church.  It  is  certainly  needless 
to  add  that  such  sins  as  the  misrepresentation  of  a plan  by  an  exterior,  or  the 
mendacious  imitation  of  one  material  in  another,  cannot  be  laid  to  his  account. 
Judged  by  modern  standards  he  seems  singularly  conscientious  in  such  matters. 


122 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON. 


The  final  charge  — that  Richardson’s  work  lacks  refinement  — is  true  as  regards 
many  of  his  earlier  productions.  But  had  the  reverse  been  true  he  would  have 
been  either  a weaker  artist  or  a miracle  among  men.  If  he  had  cared  for  refine- 
ment more  than  for  clearness  and  force,  it  would  have  been  a proof  of  that  innate 
feebleness  out  of  which  nothing  strong  can  ever  grow ; and  if,  in  breaking  a new 
path,  in  formulating  a new  architectural  language,  he  had  been  able  to  secure 
all  excellences  together  and  make  executive  skill  go  hand-in-hand  with  creative 
power  from  the  very  outset,  we  should  be  forced  to  credit  him  with  an  almost 
superhuman  gift.  His  progress  was  as  steadily  from  crudeness  and  rough  vigor  to 
refinement  as  it  was  from  over-elaboration  to  simplicity.  The  growing  refinement 
of  his  feeling  for  general  forms  shows  in  his  growing  love  for  serenity  and  symme- 
try. The  “ romantic  ” side  of  his  nature  still  spoke  in  such  a work  as  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce,  hut  far  more  reticently  than  in  those  earlier  efibrts  which  have  been 
called  “ barbaric,”  and  there  is  no  trace  or  hint  of  it  in  the  almost  classic  severity 
and  repose  of  the  Pittsburgh  Court-house.  The  same  progress  is  as  apparent  in 
individual  features  — no  later  work  shows  such  exaggerated  features  as  the  dwarf 
yet  titanic  columns  of  the  North  Easton  Town  Hall — ^ and  in  decorative  details. 
At  the  outset  his  decoration  had  been  too  emphatic  in  scale  and  too  loose  in 
execution,  while  his  “ barbaric  ” impulses  had  found  expression  in  Gothicizing 
monsters  and  conspicuous  gargoyles.  But  a more  modern,  which  also  means  a 
more  classic,  spirit  gradually  possessed  him.  The  delicate  influence  of  Byzantine 
decoration  was  gradually  absorbed,  and  no  architect  of  our  time  has  done  work 
which  is  more  pure  and  lovely  than  Richardson’s  wood-carvings  at  Quincy,  more 
graceful  yet  spirited  than  his  sculptures  in  the  senate  chamber,  more  simple  and 
elegant  than  the  fittings  in  some  of  his  houses,  more  quiet  and  dignified  than  the 
plain  capitals  which  his  use  of  granite  made  appropriate  at  Pittsburgh.  If  there 
is  a fault  in  the  Field  Building  it  came  from  his  wish  to  avoid  any  over-em- 
phatic accent ; — the  cornice  might  perhaps  have  been  bolder  in  section  and  in 
motive.  In  fact,  when  we  look  at  Richardson’s  best  decoration  we  wonder  how 
so  much  delicacy  of  thought  and  touch  could  have  been  evolved  from  the  same 
mind  which  showed  such  strength  in  matters  of  general  treatment ; and  when  we 
look  at  any  one  of  his  latest  buildings,  we  wonder  how  in  that  short  life  his  exu- 
berant spirit  could  have  learned  so  large  a measure  of  self-restraint,  serenity,  and 
good  taste. 


SKETCH  FOR  A HALL. 


LIBRARY  OF  H.  H.  RICHARDSON, 


t 


I 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING. 

After  dissolving  his  partnershij) 
with  Mr.  Gambrill,  Richardson  never 
thought  of  forming  another.  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  him  in  mature 
life  as  willing  to  work  ui^on  equal 
terms  with  any  one  else.  He  found 
it  hard  enough  to  bear  the  checks  and 
limitations  which  came  to  him  from 
his  clients,  and  could  not  have  con- 
sented to  a division  of  authority  in  his 
office  or  have  held  himself  accounta- 
ble to  any  one  in  matters  of  art  or 
business ; he  was  too  much  the  born 
autocrat  and  his  individual  ideas  and 
personal  fame  had  grown  too  dear  to 
him.  Yet  he  had  especial  need  of 
such  help  as  most  architects  get  from 
their  partners,  and  he  received  it  from 
the  devoted  service  of  a large  band  of 
scholars  the  ablest  of  whom  he  quickly  developed  into  competent  assistants. 

The  burden  of  initiative  impulse,  constant  criticism,  and  final  oversight  which 
he  kept  for  his  own  shoulders  implied  extraordinary  vigor  and  fiexibility  of  mind. 
But  the  share  of  executive  work  and  temporary  responsibility  which  it  was  impos- 
sible for  him  to  retain  could  only  have  been  borne  by  men  who  had  been  trained 
in  his  own  ideas,  and  in  whose  knowledge,  judgment,  and  sympathy  he  could 
confide.  In  this  j^ushing,  eager  land  the  temptation  to  a precocious  assertion  of 
independence  is  so  strong  that  it  was  surprising  and  delightful  to  find  an  office 
like  Richardson’s  — composed  of  an  unusual  number  of  students,  Avorking  in  an 
unusually  independent  Avay,  yet  to  a singular  degree  a unit  in  feeling,  effort,  and 
production.  It  Avas  no  great  government  atelier  supported  and  controlled  by  offi- 
cial 2)restige  and  direction.  ' The  smallest  lArovincial  office  aa  as  not  more  nnallied 
and  private.  Yet  it  Avas  filled  Avith  a score  of  Avorkers  ranging  in  age  and  grade 
from  the  boyish  novice  up  to  the  capable,  exjierienced  artist,  all  fraternally  bound 
together  and  loyally  devoted  to  their  chief,  all  laboring  togetlier  on  Avork  Avhicli 
had  a single  inspiration  and  a common  accent,  and  each  feeling  a personal  jiride  in 
results  which  the  Avorld  kneAV  as  the  master’s  only.  Tavo  or  tliree  of  Richardson’s 
pupils  remained  Avith  him  for  excojitionally  long  periods,  but  in  general  their  term 


PLAN  OF  CATHEDRAL  CHURCH. 


iAuiograph  Sketch  hy  H.  H.  HichanUon.) 


124 


HENBY  HOBSON  PiICIIABDSON 


of  service  was  not  more  than  six  or  seven  years.  It  was  the  character  of  their 
service,  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  rendered,  and  the  master’s  method  of  control- 
ling it,  A^'hich  made  this  office  so  different  from  others. 

Kichardson  was  a born  teacher  as  well  as  leader,  and  was  the  most  interestins: 
and  sympathetic  of  masters.  Young  men  rarely  speak  of  a former  “ chief”  as  his 
sj^cak  of  him  — with  so  much  professional  admiration  joined  to  so  much  personal 


PLAN  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH. 
{Autograph  Sketch  by  II.  H.  liichardsonO 


gratitude  and  affection.  They  know  and  delight  to  confess  that  much  as  they  did 
for  him  he  did  more  for  them,  and  was  their  warm  friend  as  well  as  their  capable, 
devoted  instructor.  The  personal  bond  between  them  would  under  any  condi- 
tions have  been  strong,  but  was  drawn  closer  still  by  the  way  in  which  Richard- 
son’s home  and  office  were  connected. 

The  house  in  Brookline  to  which  he  removed  while  Trinity  was  being  built  was 
a simple,  old-fashioned  dwelling,  with  an  acre  or  two  of  well-shaded  ground  about 
it.  On  the  left  of  the  entrance  were  the  parlor  and  dining-room  with  a library 
beyond,  and  on  the  right  was  an  unused  chamber.  This  last  Avas  appropriated  to 
Avorking  purposes,  and  was  Richardson’s  only  office  for  some  time  after  he  had 
given  up  the  one  in  NeAV  York.  When  more  room  Avas  needed  the  library  Avas 
taken,  the  students  having  to  pass  from  one  apartment  to  the  other  through  the 
family  liAing-rooms.  Then  the  room  first  used  Avas  abandoned,  and  an  office  for  his 
men  Avas  built  out  beyond  the  library,  AAdiich  became  Richardson’s  private  study ; 
and  as  the  staff  increased  from  year  to  year  the  general  office  Avas  extended  in  an 
irregular  line  trending  back  parallel  to  the  kitchen  Aving  of  the  house.  The  addi- 
tions thus  made  Avere  of  the  simplest  character,  mere  Ioav  working-cells  Avhich 
opened  on  one  side  into  a long  passage-Avay.  But  a foAv  years  before  his  death 
Richardson  added  to  them  at  the  ffirther  end  a large  and  sumptuous  library  of 
semi-fireproof  construction ; and  the  irregular  space  thus  inclosed  by  the  Avails  of 
house  and  office  and  library  Avas  eventually  roofed  in  and  lighted  from  above, 
making  a great  Avork-room  on  the  Avide  Avails  of  Avhich  the  largest  draAvings  could 
be  displayed. 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING. 


125 


It  was  a curious  and  most  interesting  experience  to  pass  from  the  house  into 
the  long  passage-way  with  the  “ coops,”  as  the  students  called  them,  on  one  hand 
and  the  big  work-room  on  the  other,  all  filled  with  busy  draughtsmen,  and  then 
suddenly  to  come  into  the  beautiful  library  which  was  so  expressive  of  the  master’s 
tastes  and  occujoations.  It  is  a large,  low-ceiled  room  from  which  by  a wide  arch- 
way opens  a smaller  study.  The  vast  recessed  fire-place  with  its  old  Yenetian 
landier  of  wrought-iron,  the  low  book-cases  filled  with  costly  architectural  works 
and  hundreds  of  carefully-arranged  i)hotographs,  the  table  twelve  foet  square  piled 
with  objects  of  beauty  and  of  use,  the  huge  comfortable  window-seats  and  chairs 
and  sofas,  and  the  walls  lined  with  photographs  and  drawings,  were  entirely  appro- 
jDi’iate  to  the  needs  and  likings  of  a man  who  loved  beauty  and  work  in  equal 
measure,  and  whq  liked  quite  as  well  to  have  space  and  comfort  and  “ everything 
big  ” about  him.  Even  at  first  sight  Richardson’s  library  had  not  the  aspect  of 
those  rooms  filled  to  overflowing  with  miscellaneous  bric-a-brac  which  in  recent 
years  we  have  come  to  know  so  well.  It  Avas  just  as  full  and  its  contents  Avere 
just  as  varied,  but  the  general  effect  Avas  harmonious  and  restful ; there  Avas  no  rub- 
bish among  the  things  Avhich  professed  to  be  Avorks  of  art,  there  Avere  no  ugly 
objects  of  utility,  and  each  item  bore  Avitness  to  the  strong  personal  tastes  and  the 
actual  material  or  professional  needs  of  the  OAvner.  It  Avas  evidently  in  the  first 
place  a room  to  Avork  in,  although  it  Avas  so  charming  a room  to  lounge  in  that  even 
the  dasual  visitor  was  loath  to  leave  it.  Its  contents  Avere  the  tools  of  its  OAvner, 
and  its  charm  Avas  the  natural  outcome  of  the  fact  that  his  Avork  Avas  art.  Superfi- 
cially the  library  was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  offices  through  AAdiich  one  entered 
it,  but  essentially  there  Avas  no  contrast.  The  one  Avas  simply  the  result  and 


complement  of  the  others,  a splendid  flower  into  Avhich  their  utilitarianism  had 
appropriately  bloomed.  And  the  Avhole  place  — house,  offices,  and  library  together 
— was  so  characteristic  of  Richardson  that  one  can  hardly  think  of  it  to-day  as 
occupied  by  any  one  else,  or  find  in  it  half  the  interest  and  charm  Avliich  Avcrc  so 
singularly  potent  Avhile  he  lived.  It  expressed  his  energy  and  his  success  as 
clearly  as  his  peculiar  needs  and  fancies,  Avhile  the  unusual  juxtaposition  of  home 
and  Avork-shop  kept  one  ahvays  in  mind  of  the  precarious  state  (d*  liealth  Avhich 
had  prescribed  it,  and  therefore  of  the  difficulties  amid  Avhich  energy  had  })ersisted 
and  success  had  been  achieved. 


126 


IIENET  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


Tliouo'li  the  union  between  house  and  office  was  more  intimate  at  the  hesinnino: 
tliaii  alterwards,  they  were  iiever  really  divided.  The  life  of  the  home  and  the 
life  of  the  office  went  on  together.  The  rich  library  was  as  free  to  others  as 
to  Hichardson  himself.  His  photographs  were  pinned  about  to  decorate  the 
“ coops,”  — he  said  he  liked  “to  guess  at  what  was  in  a boy”  by  the  choice  he 
made  among  them.  The  elder  students  were  constantly  at  his  hearth  and  table 


lJ.'- 


ficoU, 


0 


// 


9- 


PLAN  OF  CITY  HALL,  ALBANY. 
{Autogi-ajth  Sketch  by  H.  H.  Richardson.) 


and  seemed  as  much  a part  of  his  family  as  the  children  whom  he  loved  to  have 
about  him  while  at  work  and  to  take  with  him  on  his  hurried  business  journeys. 
So  close,  in  fact,  was  the  union  of  domestic  life  and  professional  activity,  so  large 
and  yet  so  corporate  the  troop  of  pupils,  so  devoted  to  their  chief,  so  conscious 
of  their  dependence  upon  him  and  of  his  upon  them,  and  of  the  profit  and  honor 
the  connection  brought  them,  that  a visit  to  Brookline  seemed  to  carry  one 
leagues  and  ages  away  from  the  America  of  the  moment.  One  could  think  of 
nothing  but  some  great  home-studio  of  those  elder  times  when  leadership  and 
cooperation  in  art  were  the  rule  and  not  the  exception,  when  the  artist  lived 
in  his  work  and  with  his  scholars,  and  when  the  names  of  “ master  ” and  “ pupil” 
had  something  of  a paternal  and  a filial  sound. 


OFFICES  OF  H.  H.  RICHARDSON. 


\ 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING. 


127 


Richardson  profited  much  by  such  an  order  of  things  but  his  students  profited 
not  less.  It  gave  them  a sense  of  rooted  existence,  of  mutual  dependence,  of 
intimate  comradeship,  of  responsibility  to  collective  interests,  which  both  fostered 
and  purified  their  ambition,  and  which  cultivated  them  in  a much  broader  way 
than  professional  education  usually  does,  developing  them  as  men  and  not  only  as 
artists.  No  tendeneies  in  modern  life  are  more  deplorable  than  those  whieh  lead 
us  to  disassociate  our  working  from  our  living,  which  tempt  us  to  think  we  can 
work  well  enough  when  we  have  studied  just  a little,  and  which  persuade  us  that 
to  do  one  kind  of  work  we  need  only  one  kind  of  education.  Against  all  these 
tendencies  the  spirit  of  Richardson’s  office  protested,  and  the  good  influence  of  its 
protest  has  been  felt  far  outside  the  ranks  of  the  men  who  labored  there. 

His  own  personal  ways  of  thinking  and  working  assisted  this  happy  influence. 
No  young  man  could  fail  to  respect  his  art  or  could  approach  it  merely  as  a busi- 
ness in  sight  of  a devotion  so  fervid,  an  ambition  so  far-reaching  yet  so  conscien- 
tious in  all  that  concerned  the  elaims  of  art  as  art.  None  could  think  lightly  of 
his  share  in  the  common  task  when  its  importance  was  so  vigorously  impressed 
upon  him.  None  eould  be  listless  with  such  energy  to  reproaeh  him,  — it  seemed 
easy  to  work  even  into  the  small  hours  of  the  night  with  a master  who  worked  too 
in  spite  of  pain  and  illness,  cared  for  the  comfort  of  his  associates,  was  anxious  to 
give  them  recreation  whenever  possible,  and  liked  nothing  better  than  to  amuse 
and  rest  himself  in  their  soeiety.  Richardson  asked  a great  deal  of  his  assistants 
from  day  to  day,  but  they  never  seemed  to  think  that  he  asked  too  mueh  or  that 
they  could  too  eagerly  respond  to  his  call.  When  important  work  was  behind- 
hand no  amount  of  labor  daunted  them.  When  he  was  on  his  mettle  the  office 
rose  to  the  same  pitch  of  intensity,  and  when  he  was  rejoicing  in  some  recent 
triumph  his  mood  was  reflected  in  every  face  about  him.  Even  those  elder  pupils 
who  had  left  him  to  start  upon  independent  careers  did  not  feel  that  the  connec- 
tion had  really  been  severed.  His  office  still  seemed  their  professional  home 
and  his  triumphs  their  successes,  and  they  were  still  ready  to  help  him  in  any 
emergency. 

It  is  not  unimportant  to  note  that  courtesy  was  one  of  Richardson’s  weapons 
of  conquest  with  his  subordinates  as  well  as  with  his  friends.  InuDetuous  and 
imperative  though  he  was  at  times,  he  was  not  imperious  to  the  point  of  forget- 
ting that  , his  pupils  were  gentlemen,  and  did  not  fail  to  respect  their  dignity  in 
his  manner  of  address.  When  eritieising  their  work  he  fell  into  no  moods  of 
impatient  fault-finding.  I have  heard  more  than  one  man  speak  of  the  wonderful 
patience  of  this  naturally  hasty  spirit  when  some  one’s  work  had  “ gone  wrong,” 
when  some  long-considered  problem  “ would  not  come,”  when  days  and  weeks 
had  been  spent  over  results  which  were  good  for  little  save  to  show  what  must 
not  be  done.  Instead  of  saying  bluntly  that  it  must  not  be  done  he  would  say, 
“ Let  us  look  into  the  thing  and  see  what  is  the  matter,”  and  follow  up  the  words 
with  patient  critieisms,  explanations,  hints,  and  theorizings,  so  expressed  as  neither 
to  wound  the  hearer’s  feelings  nor  to  damp  his  courage.  An  hour’s  eonversation 
of  this  sort  would  leave  a beginner  inspirited,  eager  to  throAV  the  old  Avork  aside 
and  commence  again,  conscious  less  of  the  fact  that  he  had  failed  than  of  the  fact 


128 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARBSON 


that  now  lie  was  going  to  succeed.  Not  one  or  two  but  many  trials  were  granted 
him  until  at  last  he  did  succeed  ; and  through  them  all  Richardson’s  policy  would 
he  the  same  — a policy  of  confidence,  encouragement,  and  inspiration. 

Of  course  he  tried  to  instill  as  the  basis  of  every  effort  a feeling  for  the  primary 
importance  of  the  problem  proposed.  Its  special  intrinsic  claims  were  to  be  the 
first  things  considered,  and  the  precedents  of  ancient  art  were  to  be  consulted 


only  for  the  help  they  might  give  towards  the  free,  full,  and  exact  expression  of 

these  claims.  He  also  insist- 
ently recommended  his  own 
practice  of  working  even  when 
not  actually  at  work.  The 
habit  he  had  acquired  in  Paris 
of  first  designing  in  his  head 
and  then  testing  and  elaborat- 
ing upon  paper  he  thought 
indisiiensable  to  an  architect. 
The  fact  that  it  saved  time  was 
its  smallest  recommendation. 
Its  greatest  was  that  it  fostered 
a sense  of  the  relative  value 
of  chief  and  minor  things ; — 
for  a man  who  begins  his  de- 
sign in  his  head  must  begin  by 
finding  a conception  and  by 
arranging  principal  features  ; 
even  if  he  should  try  he  could 
hardly  begin  with  details.^ 

But  the  peculiar  character 
of  Richardson’s  teaching  is 
best  understood  Avhen  we  learn  how  near  to  the  bottom  of  a problem  the  student 
Avas  told  to  begin  and  hoAv  independently  he  Avas  alloAved  to  attempt  its  develojA- 
ment.  The  basic  conception  Avas  ahvays  Richardson’s  oAvn,  but  the  simplest,  rud- 
est penciled  memoranda  conveyed  it  to  his  executive.  A little  rough  sketch  half 
the  size  of  his  palm  (those  reproduced  in  this  chapter  are  characteristic  exam- 
jdcs)  Avas  given  to  the  pupil  even  though  he  might  be  one  Avho  had  just  entered 
the  office.  “ Do  what  you  can  Avith  it,”  Richardson  Avould  say,  .adding,  of  course, 
some  general  counsels  and  directions  ; “ Do  Avhat  you  can  Avith  it  and  then  Ave 
shall  see.”  Then  he  Avonld  not  stajid  at  the  pupil’s  elboAV  to  direct  his  pencil,  and 
Avonld  not  speedily  correct  or  criticise  him,  but  AVonld  Avait  until  he  seemed  pretty 


^ “ I believe,”  writes  a former  pupil  of  Richardson’s, 
“ that  it  was  Monsieur  Andr^  who  used  sometimes  to  make 
his  students  study  a problem  without  2>encil  or  paper, 
then  get  up  and  describe  verbally  to  him  their  solutions, 
and  then  go  to  the  blackboard  and  draw  out  what  they 
had  described.  If  their  solutions  were  not  feasible  or  were 
not  good,  the  fact  became  quickly  apparent.  They  began, 
of  course,  with  simple  problems,  advancing  gradually  to 
the  most  complicated.  This  habit,  thus  early  acquired, 


Mr.  Richardson  considered  of  the  greatest  assistance 
and  value.  He  has  often  told  me  that  he  did  the  greater 
part  of  his  woi'k  while  driving,  or  on  the  cars,  or,  per- 
haps, in  bed.  Sometimes  when  I have  been  driving  with 
him  he  would  turn  to  me  and  talk  of  some  problem  he 
had  in  hand  just  as  if  he  saw  it  drawn  out  before  him,  and 
discuss  various  possible  solutions  of  a particular  point  in 
the  design.  He  used  often  to  urge  upon  his  pupils  the 
necessity  for  cultivating  the  same  habit.” 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING. 


129 


well  started  on  the  road  to  success,  or  found  himself  in  a tight  place  out  of  which 
only  the  master  could  help  him.  Even  in  the  latter  case  he  might  get  little  that 
was  definite  from  the  master  except  in  the  way  of  negative  criticism.  If  a scheme 
was  palpably  mistaken  he  was  told  to  try  for  another.  If  a feature  evidently  ' 
would  not  do  Richardson  did  not  exactly  2U’escribe  the  one  which  would  do.  He 
exidained  why  this  one  would  not,  and  expected  the  pujDil  to  put  his  negative 
counsel  into  jDositive  shajDe.  And  if  he  wished  to  direct  him  for  assistance  to  his- 
torical examples,  he  did  not  say  “ Study  this  building  ” or  “ Adapt  that  motive,” 
but  “ In  this  book  or  that  jjortfolio  you  may  find  something  to  heli:>  you,”  or,  more 
often,  “ You  had  better  spend  an  hour  with  the  photograj:)hs.”  And  all  this  was 
done  with  a care  and  j^ersistence  yet  a never-flagging  fire  which  drove  home  the 
lesson  that  no  time  was  too  much,  no  pains  were  too  great,  to  bestow  upon  the 
task,  and  that  no  task  was  too  difficult  to  be  mastered  if  due  jDains  and  time 
were  given. 

Such  a method  of  guidance  must  often  have  seemed  slow  if  suj3erficially  judged 
— if  judged  by  its  immediate  results  with  regard  to  the  j^rogress  of  the  design 
which  chanced  to  be  in  hand.  But  we  know  how  remarkable  was  its  success  in 
almost  every  instance,  and  we  can  understand  how  great  was  its  ultimate  profit 
to  both  master  and  pupil,  — if  the  pupil  had  industry,  talent,  and  recejDtive  in- 
sight. Richardson  did  not  waste  his  teaching  upon  incomiDetence.  Many  men 
benefited  by  it,  but  they  were  all  men  in  whom  from  the  first  he  had  recognized 
the  right  sort  of  ability.  If  he  had  not  recognized  this,  or  if  a novice  had  failed 
to  win  his  personal  as  well  as  professional  interest,  a long  term  might  have  been 
spent  to  little  purpose  in  his  office.  But  jDupils  whom  he  liked  and  in  whose 
talent  he  believed  learned  of  him  as  they  could  have  learned  of  no  one  else. 
They  learned  something  very  different  from  the  mere  power  to  rej^eat  in  careful 
drawings  the  careless  but  comprehensive  drawings  of  another,  or  to  understand 
definite  detailed  instructions  and  reproduce  them  upon  paper.  They  learned  to 
think  for  themselves,  to  design  for  themselves,  to  decorate  for  themselves ; they 
learned  to  begin  at  the  beginning  and  study  a thing  to  the  end ; they  learned  to 
make  a building  and  not  merely  to  make  a drawing.  They  gained  a great  share 
of  such  experience  as  our  architects  most  often  do  not  gain  until  they  start  inde- 
pendently in  their  profession ; and  they  gained  it  all  the  better,  all  the  more 
quickly,  by  working  under  supervision.  They  were  not  forced  to  struggle  with 
the  vague  aims  and  crude  ideals  of  inexperience,  or  to  criticise  their  results  by  its 
feeble  light.  The  settled  aims  and  the  lofty  ideals  of  a great  and  j^racticed  mas- 
ter were  their  goal,  and  though  they  were  often  left  to  discover  for  themselves  a 
way  to  reach  it,  his  illuminating  criticisms  and  pregnant  hints  helj^ed  without 
cramj^ing  their  efforts. 

Nor  was  Richardson’s  teaching  suspended  when  he  left  the  draughting-table. 
He  was  careful  to  give  his  men  all  the  chances  he  could  to  increase  their  general 
knowledge  and  develop  their  taste,  and  he  never  talked  more  or  better  than  when 
he  was  among  them.  The  Monday-night  dinners  which  in  his  later  years  he 
organized  to  bring  his  actual  and  his  former  pupils  around  him  were  but  the  most 
conspicuous  features  in  an  intercourse  few  moments  of  which  were  sterile.  Ilis 
conversation  never  wandered  long  from  the  things  he  had  most  at  heart,  and 


130 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


though  it  was  never  didactic  it  was  always  doctrinal.  Whether  he  talked  of  some 
special  piece  of  work  just  then  under  way,  of  some  still  nebulous  future  scheme,  of 
his  own  early  struggles,  of  foreign  sights,  of  home  necessities,  or  of  the  artist’s  life 
and  tasks  in  general,  he  showed  the  same  serious,  noble  breadth  of  view,  the  same 
enthusiastic,  eager,  yet  reverent  spirit.  No  man  was  less  of  a pedant,  and  he  en- 
joyed a joke,  like  the  youngest ; but  a jest  about  art  or  a light  word  spoken  of  the 
artist’s  duties  hurt  him  as  a joke  about  religion  hurts  a devotee.  To  Richardson’s 
mind  the  most  imi^ortant  lesson  to  be  taught  his  pupils  was  respect  for  their  art 
and  for  themselves  as  its  exponents,  and  the  pupil  would  have  been  dull  indeed 
who  did  not  learn  this  at  least  in  the  Brookline  home. 

It  seems  almost  paradoxical  that  a master  could  stand  so  aloof  from  the  task  in 
hand  and  yet  control  it  so  entirely  — that  pupils  could  be  left  so  much  to  them- 
selves and  yet  do  work  which  was  so  essentially,  thoroughly,  individually  their 
master’s.  Its  aspect  is  enough  to  prove  that  Richardson’s  work  was  all  his  own, 
in  feature  and  detail  no  less  than  in  primary  conception.  His  executives  knew  it 
to  be  so  — knew  it  well  at  the  moment  and  still  better  when  they  came  to  try  to 
do  their  own  work.  Yet  even  they  could  hardly  understand  and  cannot  at  all 
exj^lain  how  it  passed  from  his  mind  into  their  minds  and  hands  — by  just  what 
process  of  gradual,  imperceptible  inoculation.  His  fluent,  incisive,  eager  speech, 
fllled  with  picturesque  epithets  and  piquant  illustrations  and  often  tinged  with  the 
poetry  Avhich  is  latent  in  a.  true  artist  of  any  kind,  dealt  little  Avith  particulars, 
much  with  generalities,  yet  in  such  a Avay  that  a symjAathetic  listener  could  detect 
the  bearing  Avhich  these  generalities  Avere  meant  to  have  upon  the  particulars 
before  him.  Not  many  things  Avhich  the  master  said  could  be  utilized  as  precise 
directions,  but  everything  Avas  rich  Avith  meaning  from  Avhich  concrete  aid  could 
be  extracted.  Even  Avhen  his  hints  Avere  vaguest  they  Avere  vital ; even  when  his 
suggestions  were  slightest  they  Avere  fertile.  Without  prescribing  a form  or  dic- 
tating a feature  he  could  so  talk  of  the  general  effect  that  he  Avanted  to  produce, 
of  the  bearing  of  forms  and  features  upon  each  other,  and  of  the  special  accent 
Avhich  each  should  bring  into  the  scheme,  that  the  student  would  feel  in  some 
inexplicable  Avay  an  exacter  meaning  than  was  expressed,  and  in  giving  it  shape 
Avould  knoAV  that  Avhile  he  seemed  to  be  inventing  he  was  merely  translating. 
Most  architects,  Ave  are  aAvare,  either  design  a building  themselves  or  hand  it  over 
to  a subordinate  and  leave  him  to  deal  Avith  it  pretty  much  as  he  thinks  fit ; Ave 
often  see  the  fact  all  too  clearly  expressed  in  the  various  structures  credited  to  a 
single  office.  Except  in  his  very  early  years  Richardson  never,  in  the  literal  sense, 
designed  a building  himself.  Yet 'each  building  that  bears  his  name  Avas  from  end 
to  end  really  his  creation.  He  developed  the  individual  poAvers  of  his  pupils,  yet 
moulded  them  for  the  time  at  least  into  a visible  likeness  Avith  himself ; and  he 
impressed  upon  them  for  all  time  his  lu’oad  beliefs  Avith  regard  to  the  essential 
virtues  Avhich  a Avork  of  architecture  should  possess. 

Such  methods  of  vicarious  yet  personal  creation  and  of  vague  yet  pregnant  and, 
in  the  end,  very  definite  instruction  cannot  be  explained  in  Avords.  They  Avere 
not  so  much  methods  of  teaching  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  term  as  of  inspiration 
and,  so  to  say,  magnetic  transmission,  and  as  such  are  beyond  the  power  of  logical 


METHODS  OF  TEACHING. 


131 


thought  to  analyze  or  of  language  fully  to  record.  Their  potency  and  something 
of  their  manner  of  action  were  recognized,  as  has  been  said,  for  what  they  were  by 
those  who  worked  in  Richardson’s  office,  and  could  easily  be  guessed  by  all  others 
Avho  had  come  within  the  influence  of  his  magnetic  mind  and  voice.  But  some 
men,  doubtless,  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  in  them,  and  very  few  artists  can  hope 
to  imitate  them.  Nevertheless,  alien  though  they  seem  to  the  mental  attitude 
and  the  professional  customs  of  our  time,  there  have  been  times  when  they 
must  often  have  been  exerted  and  must  have  seemed  entirely  natural.  When- 
ever art  has  been  at  its  greatest  we  may  divine  great  artists  influencing  others 
in  Richardson’s  way  and  expressing  their  own  ideas  through  other  hands.  To- 
day each  painter,  for  example,  works  by  and  for  himself.  A picture  of  Corot’s 
means  a picture  which  no  hand  but  Corot’s  has  touched.  A pupil  of  Meissonier’s 
means  a pupil  to  whom  Meissonicr  is  teaching  the  manii)ulation  of  his  tools.  The 
followers  of  Fortuny  are  a number  of  independent  workers  who  have  seized  upon 
some  of  his  novel  ideas  or  expedients  and  are  trying,  each  in  his  own  way,  to  work 
them  out  on  individual  lines.  The  Impressionist  school  is  a group  of  artists  dif- 
fering radically  among  themselves  in  conception  and  manner,  and  merely  united  in 
name  by  certain  broad  articles  of  faith  — by  their  approval  or  disapproval  of  cer- 
tain schemes  of  pictorial  interpretation.  But  if  we  think  of  what  is  meant  by  a 
painting  of  Rubens,  by  the  school  of  Lionardo,  by  Perugino’s  pupils,  how  great  is 
the  contrast ! Here  we  divine  methods  which  may  be  placed  in  partial  parallel  at 
least  with  that  process  of  intellectual  and  emotional  influence,  of  direct  inspiration 
and  indirect  control,  of  deputed  effort  yet  personal  production,  which  went  on 
beneath  Richardson’s  roof.  It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  the  riddle  of  how 
it  went  on  is  not  thereby  clearly  read  for  us. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


INFLUENCE  UPON  PROFESSION  AND  PUBLIC. 

Richardson’s  influence  upon  the  members  of  his 
profession  extended  far  beyond  the  walls  of  his  own 
office,  and  was  both  stimnlating  and  ennobling.  His 
success  showed  that  good  work  might  win  wide  pop- 
ular appreciation,  but  that  a class  of  work  Avhich  had 
once  seemed  good  enough  would  not  seem  so  in  the 
future  ; and  the  manner  in  which  he  had  achieved 
success  impressed  the  lesson  that  art  is  a serious  mat- 
ter and  should  be  approached  in  a serious  spirit.  Upon 
the  public,  too,  he  exerted  a very  strong  personal  influ- 
ence through  contact  with  clients,  friends,  and  even 
casual  acquaintances.  That  self-assertion  which  to 
some  eyes  was  a fault  in  his  character  seems  in  this 
connection  his  greatest  merit.  Nothing  was  more  to 
be  desired  when  he  began  his  work  than  that  Ameri- 
can architects  should  have  a better  chance  to  show  of  what  they  were  capable. 
No  champion  was  more  needed  than  one  who  should  assert  their  right  to  do  their 
own  work  in  their  own  way  — should  proclaim  and  prove  the  fact  that  an  artist 
knows  more  about  art  than  the  persons  who  employ  him.  Richardson’s  strength 
of  will,  directness  of  aim,  genial  manner,  and  beguiling  tongue  persuaded  his  cli- 
ents to  give  him  open  opportunities  and  vigorous  backing,  to  supjiress  their  own 
crude  ideas  and  wishes,  and  often  to  employ  him  on  tasks  of  a sort  for  which  an 
artist’s  help  had  seldom  in  the  jiast  been  thought  essential.  The  result  has  given 
us  not  onl}^  his  own  work  but  a better  chance 
than  we  ever  had  before  to  get  good  work  from 
others.  In  fighting  his  own  battles  he  fought  his 
comrades’  battles,  in  widening  his  own  path  he 
■ smoothed  and  widened  theirs,  and  in  guiding  and 
enlightening  his  clients  he  leavened  the  spirit  of 
the  whole  American  public.  The  unique  position 
which  he  gained  for  himself  has  visibly  raised  the 
standing  of  the  architectural  profession  through- 
out the  whole  country.  There  can  be  no  Amer- 
ican city  into  which  some  echo  of  Richardson’s 
name  and  fame  has  not  penetrated  ; and  wherever  they  are  even  vaguely  known 
the  standing  and  the  chances  of  his  humblest  brother-artist  are  thereby  improved. 

No  degree  of  personal  force  and  charm,  however,  could  by  itself  have  been  so 


SKETCH  FOR  AN  ANDIRON. 


INFLUENCE  UPON  PEOFESSION  AND  PUBLIC. 


133 


j)owerful.  The  influence  of  Richardson’s  works  upon 
the  general  public  potently  assisted  the  influence 
of  his  words.  He  was  not  the  first  American  archi- 
tect to  build  good  and  beautiful  structures.  But 
he  was  the  first  to  build  them  in  a way  to  attract 
the  eye  of  every  passer,  and  to  Avin  always  respectful 
thought  and  almost  always  genuine,  hearty  admi- 
ration. Of  all  the  services  Richardson  rendered 
us  this  is  the  most  important.  Of  all  his  legacies 
the  most  valuable  we  possess  is  a neAv-born  interest 
in  the  art  of  architecture,  a groAving  belief  that 
it  may  give  us  true  pleasure  and  that  Ave  should 
therefore  try  to  understand  and  foster  it.  The  man 
was  made  for  the  place  and  hour.  In  other  lands 
those  Avho  are  capable  of  learning  the  value  of  art 
are  taught  by  the  precepts  of  long  tradition  and  by 
the  sight  of  ancient  master-pieces.  When  Richard- 

SKETCH  FOR  AN  ANDIRON.  son  began  his  Avork  our  love  for  art  was  groAving 

strong  hut  Avas  still  crude  and  ignorant.  It  Avas  as 
vague  in  theory  as  in  practice,  and  it  Avas  not  half  sure  enough  of  its  oaaui  value 
as  a factor  in  national  life.  An  influence  like  his  was  Avhat  Ave  needed  most  — 
an  influence  which  should  give  both  an  added  impulse  to  our  desires  and  an  in- 
creased knowledge  of  how  they  might  be  gratified.  Richardson  himself  knew  this 
and  rated  his  exceptional  opportunity  at  its  full  worth.  Not  even  his  personal 
fame,  dear  though  it  Avas  to  him,  so  touched  his  imagination  and  fired  his  Avill 
as  the  consciousness  that  this  fame  was  ennobling  the  attitude  of  the  Avhole 
profession  toAvards  its  work  and  of  the  Avhole  public  toAvards  the  profession. 

The  impress  Avhich  Richardson  thus  made 
upon  his  generation  has  not  been  beneficial  to 
architecture  alone.  He  knew  that  architec- 
ture as  the  mother  and  centre  of  all  other  arts 
and  handicrafts  should  encourage  them  all  for 
her  OAvn  sake  no  less  than  for  theirs.  He  Avas 
among  the  first  American  architects  to  preach 
and  j)ractice  the  fundamental  precept  that 
Avhen  walls  and  roof  are  standing  a building 
is  not  finished,  but  still  needs  that  its  builder 
should  concern  himself  Avith  every  detail  of 
its  decoration,  perfecting  it  himself  or  calling 
upon  other  artists  to  perfect  it  in  a Avay  har- 
monious Avith  his  own  resnlts.  No  feature  Avas  too  small,  no  object  too  simple  to 
engage  his  thought.  American  glass-staincrs  and  decorative  painters,  architectural 
carvers  in  stone  and  Avood,  Avorkers  in  iron  and  brass,  cabinet-makers,  car])enters, 
masons,  potters  — all  to-day  do  Avork  of  a quality  for  Avhich  the  last  generation 
might  have  asked  in  vain.  Those  Avhom  Richardson  employed  profited  both  intel- 


I 

SKETCH  FOR  A GAS  BRACKET. 


134 


HEXFiY  HOB  SOX  RICH AED  SOX. 


lectiially  and  teclinically  by  the  nature  of  the 
tasks  he  required  and  by  the  wise  severity  with 
whieh  he  criticised  their  perlbrniancc.  This 
was  especially  the  case,  of  course,  with  those 
upon  whom  he  most  depended  — his  carvers 
and  his  masons  ; but  a man  could  not  even  dis 
for  llichardson  without  learning  that  there 
was  a right  way  and  a ivrong  Avay  to  dig. 

Yet  though  he  demanded  much  of  the  arti- 
san, and  firmly  believed  that  he  should  be 
developed  into  something  better  than  the 
name  had  implied  in  recent  years,  he  was 
always  eager  to  exchange  his  help  for  that  of 
the  higher  artist.  And  when  an  artist’s  help 
had  been  secured,  his  policy  of  strict  dictation 
gave  place  to  one  of  brotherly  cooperation. 
What  he  wanted  was  the  best  work  other 
artists  could  supply  for  his  particular  purpose  ; 
and  though  he  insisted  that  that  piiiq)ose  should 
be  borne  in  mind,  he  remembered  that  what 
was  true  of  himself  Avas  true  of  others  : “No  man  can  do  good  Avork  Avho  is  per- 
petually cramped  and  tliAvarted.”  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his  life  he 
Avas  ahvays  trying  to  bring  the  best  sculptors,  the  best  landscape-gardeners,  and 
the  best  painters  of  the  country  into  his  undertakings  ; and  one  of  the  chief 
facts  Avliich  make  Trinity  Church  a mile-stone  to  mark  our  progress  in  art  is  the 
fact  that  it  Avas  the  first  American  church  the  interior  decoration  of  which  Avas 
intrusted  as  a Avhole  to  a painter  of  ability. 

Neither  Richardson’s  OAvn  success  nor  his  public  usefulness  could  have  been 
half  so  great  but  for  his  hearty  ojAtimism,  synonym  as  it  Avas  for  a thorough  sympa- 
thy Avith  his  time  and  his  surroundings.  He  Avas  successful  and  influential  because 
his  nature  Avas  so  intensely  modern,  so  thoroughly  American.  His  long  familiarity 
Avith  the  triumphs  of  ancient  art  had  simply  inspired  the  belief  that  Avhat  had 
been  done  once  could  be  done  again  and  ^Acrhaps  improved  upon.  And  his  long 
residence  abroad  had  shoAvn  him  that  ojAportunities  are  both  freest  and  richest 
here,  and  that  latent  talent,  if  not  perfected  skill,  is  at  least  as  great.  To  his  mind 
it  argued  dullness  of  vision  or  Aveakness  of  Avill  Avhen  an  American  architect 
Avished  he  had  been  born  in  some  other  time  or  land. 

There  Avas  little  in  surrounding  circumstances  or  in  the  cast  of  Richardson’s 
mind  to  lead  him  to  talk  of  the  conditions  of  artistic  life  in  earlier  ages.  But  he 
often  discussed  its  present  conditions  in  Europe,  and  ahvays  with  expressions  of 
thankfulness  that  his  oavu  lines  had  not  been  cast  there.  The  priceless  teaching 
of  ancient  monuments,  he  thought,  could  be  absorbed  by  an  American,  Avhile  their 
distance  from  his  actual  place  of  labor  gave  him  that  greatest  of  all  advantages  — 
a free  field,  an  open  opportunity.  What  an  architect  can  do  in  Europe  is  largely 
controlled  by  the  neighborhood  of  historic  Avorks  and  by  the  traditions,  fiiiths,  and 


INFLUENCE  UPON  PROFESSION  AND  PUBLIC. 


135 


prejudices  which  antiquarian  study  has  developed.  What  he  can  do  in  America 
depends  only  upon  himself  and  upon  the  sympathy  he  can  awaken  in  minds  which 
if  ignorant  are  unprejudiced,  if  untrained  are  intelligent,  if  unconscious  of  their 
wants  are  quick  to  recognize  the  value  of  anything  which  really  appeals  to  them 
as  a combination  of  good  sense  and  beauty.  In  Europe  a much  more  intelligent 
effort  is  made  to  secure  the  best  architectural  service  than  has  been  made  in 
America.  But  when  it  is  secured  it  is  cramped  in  ways  of  which  we  know  noth- 
ing — in  France  by  the  rule  of  certain  official  styles  and  formulas  ; in  England  by 
the  sway  of  changing  fashions,  each  as  insistent  for  the  time  as  quickly  abandoned, 
and  often  by  the  personal  ideas  of  men  high  in  political  place  ; and  everywhere  by 
that  archaeological  spirit  which  demands  ffi’st  of  all  not  that  a building  shall 
be  sensible  and  beautiful  but  that  it  shall  be  scholarly,  not  that  it  shall  represent 
an  artist’s  own  thought  but  that  it  shall  show  his  acquaintance  with  the  thought 
of  some  forerunner.  The  greatest  difficulty  with  which  our  architects  have  had 
to  contend  is  public  indifference,  the  greatest  with  which  foreign  architects  have 
to  contend  is  public  interference,  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  why  Bichardson 
thought  the  former  much  the  smaller  hindrance  of  the  two.  It  seemed  to  him 
the  one  which  personal  force  might  more  easily  overcome  in  the  end  and  mean- 
while might  more  easily  ignore.^ 

His  last  visit  to  Paris  confirmed  this  attitude  of  mind.  When  he  met  the 
friends  of  his  student  days  he  found  some  of  them  at  the  very  head  of  their  23ro- 
fession  — highly  and  securely  j^laced, 
full  of  work,  and  rich  in  honor.  But 
far  from  envying  their  position,  he  re- 
gretted that  men  of  such  ability  should 
not  have  the  same  oj3port unities  that 
were  open  to  him.  He  dej^lored  the 
fact  that  no  one  of  them  was  able  really 
to  be  himself  — to  discover  what  he 
would  like  best  to  do  in  art  and  then  to 
do  it.  And  when  he  came  home  it  was 
with  a renewed  sense  of  intense  delight 
in  the  freedom  of  his  own  ^^ath,  the 
singleness  of  his  dependence  upon  a 
public  with  fresh  eyes  and  sjDontaneous 
instincts. 

Such  feelings  may  not  be  shared  by 
men  of  a different  teinj^erament  from 
Bichardson’s — there  is  a degree  of  safety  in  tradition  and  iDrescrij^tion  which 
strongly  attracts  all  but  the  sturdiest  sj)irits.  But  they  were  feelings  which  played 
a controlling  j^art  in  his  wonderful  career.  It  is  not  talents  or  oj^portunities,  he 
always  maintained,  which  lack  in  the  America  of  to-day,  but  merely  the  will  to 
make  good  use  of  them,  merely  a truer  recognition  of  what  art  really  means  and  ot 

^ The  history  of  the  Albany  Capitol  otfers,  indeed,  an  case  was  in  every  way  so  exceptional  that  it  does  not  allect 
instance  of  public  interference  with  architects’  work.  But  the  general  contrast  between  American  and  European  con- 
professional  voices  then  incited  legislative  action,  and  the  ditions. 


136 


HENRY  HOBSON  EICHARBSON. 


AA'liat  the  artist’s  needs  and  obligations  really  are.  It  was  the  perception  of  the 
fact  that  these  qualities  are  rapidly  developing  which  made  his  confidence  in  the 
future  of  American  art  so  great ; and  it  was  this  confidence,  this  ever-forward, 
hopeful  gaze,  which  made  him  so  bold  in  doing  his  work  and  caused  him  to  pur- 
sue with  pupils,  artists,  and  public  alike,  that  policy  of  trust,  encouragement,  and 
inspiration  which  has  borne  such  valuable  fruit.  His  creed  was  the  poet’s  : — 

I know  that  the  past  was  great  and  the  futnre  will  he  great, 

And  that  wdiere  I am  or  you  are  this  present  day  there  is  the  centre  of  all  days,  all  races. 

And  there  is  the  meaning  to  us  of  all  that  has  ever  come  of  races  and  days  or  ever  shall  come.” 

Its  value  as  a creed  for  the  American  artist  may  best  be  judged  by  its  results  in 
Ilichardson’s  buildings  and  in  their  influence  ujfon  the  people. 

It  is  difficult  to  cxphiin  why  Richardson’s  work  appealed  so  immediately  and  so 
strongly  to  the  2)nblic.  But  the  question  is  of  such  importance  that  his  biogra- 
pher cannot  escape  from  the  attempt  to  give  at  least  a partial  exj^lanation. 

• The  mere  originality  of  any  of  his  buildings  can  have  had  little  to  do  with  the 
matter.  Originality  of  one  sort  or  another  has  so  long  been  the  rule  in  American 
architecture  that  the  most  striking  novelty,  if  it  is  nothing  more,  can  hardl}"  ex- 
cite even  a passing  curiosity.  The  solid  popular  success  of  Richardson’s  work  — 
great  at  once  and  growing  greater  year  by  year  — has  certainly  been  due  in  large 
degree  to  those  qualities  which  have  already  been  described  as  setting  it  conspicu- 
ously apart  from  modern  architectural  work  in  general  — to  the  clearness  and 
vigor  of  the  primary  conceptions  which  it  embodies,  and  to  the  consistency  yet 
flexibility  in  matters  of  treatment  which  it  displays.  The  strength  and  clearness 
of  each  of  Richardson’s  conceptions  attracted  the  eyes  of  men  whom  mere  schol- 
arly arrangements  of  beautiful  features  or  elaborate  schemes  of  decoration  left 
unmoved  — putting  before  them  a body  which  they  could  not  help  noticing  as 
a whole  and  which  plainly  showed  what  the  aim  of  the  artist  had  been  and  what 
was  the  nature  of  his  testhetic  ideal.  And  then  his  steady  yet  pliant  and  sensible 
adherence  to  the  same  ideal  in  the  fulfillment  of  many  different  aims  impressed  its 
character  upon  the  observer’s  mind,  made  him  think  not  of  each  work  by  itself 
but  of  all  together,  and  thus  caused  him  to  realize  the  difference  between  an  archi- 
tectural creed  and  a mere  succession  of  architectural  recipes.  It  was  Richardson 
who  first  proved  to  the  American  public  that  the  speech  of  a modern  architect 
may  be  something  wholly  different  from  a series  of  varying  quotations  or  of  ever- 
new  inventions  — that  it  may  be  a consistent  yet  plastic  language,  one  which 
inspires  the  artist  yet  is  ductile  in  his  hands,  one  which  borrows  its  terms  from 
ancient  tongues  yet  has  a thoroughly  modern  accent  and  can  express  a fresh  and 
powerful  individuality.  It  was  Richardson  who  first  proved  this,  and  it  is  not 
strange,  therefore,  that  he  should  first  have  excited  a genuine  interest  in  the  art 
he  practiced. 

A i:>art  of  the  popularity  of  his  works  may  in  this  way  be  explained.  But  only 
a part  — interest  is  not  necessarily  admiration,  and  they  have  excited  an  admi- 
ration which  seems  doubly  strong  in  contrast  with  the  cool  indifference  that  had 
greeted  the  best  works  of  his  forerunners.  This  fact  is  best  accounted  for, 


INFLUENCE  UPON  PROFESSION  AND  PUBLIC. 


137 


perhaps,  by  regarding  him  as  the  unconscious  exponent  of  an  unconscious,  latent, 
yet  distinctly  marked  national  taste  in  architecture.  An  artist  so  strong  as  he 
would  in  any  case  have  impressed  his  generation  deeply ; but  to  have  made  the 
extraordinary  mark  he  did  seems  to  imply  a peculiar  concord  in  feeling  between 
himself  and  his  public. 

Uj^on  the  question  whether  this  concord  was  a fact  turns  the  interesting  ques- 
tion whether  Ilichardson  will  be  recognized  by  later  generations  as  the  founder 
and  inspirer  of  a national  architectural  development.  It  does  not  involve  the 
future  of  his  fame  as  a great  artist,  or  the  vitality  of  his  fostering  influence  upon 
our  love  for  art  in  general  and  our  understanding  of  architectural  excellence. 
These  in  any  case  are  well  assured.  And  so,  we  cannot  doubt,  is  the  permanence 
in  certain  respects  of  his  influence  upon  the  actual  character  of  American  archi- 
tecture. If  the  collective  work  of  the  American  architects  of  to-day  is  compared 
with  that  of  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  the  effect  of  Richardson’s  example  clearly 
api^ears ; — it  would  be  hard  to  overstate  the  degree  to  which  he  should  receive 
credit  for  the  growth  of  this  work  in  vigor,  breadth,  and  simj)licity,  in  coherence 
and  clearness  of  expression.  As  far  as  such  qualities  as  these  are  concerned 
his  influence  must  endure.  But  they  are  not  the  only  ones  in  which,  at  the 
moment,  it  is  conspicuously  embodied.  His  special  schemes  and  features  and 
types  of  decoration  — his  actual  creed  and  style  — have  found  so  many  adherents 
that  they  are  fast  setting  a-  distinct  impress  upon  the  aspect  of  our  towns.  We 
have  had  many  architectural  fashions  in  America  but  nothing  to  compare  with 
the  vogue  of  that  neo-Romanesque  work  which  often  seems  to  reproduce  the  true 
spirit  of  Richardson’s  art  if  at  other  times  it  seems  merely  to  imitate  or  caricature 
it.  And  it  is  the  permanence,  the  spread,  the  vital  development,  the  eventual 
triumjDli  in  quality  and  in  quantity  of  this  special  form  of  art  which  are  involved 
in  the  question  whether,  in  using  it,  Richardson  merely  exjwessed  his  personal 
taste  or  unconsciously  expressed  the  taste  of  the  American  people  too. 

It  is  not  important  that  we  should  discuss  this  question  in  advance,  but  it  is 
imperative  that  we  should  recognize  its  exact  form  and  bearing.  It  cannot  l)c 
too  often  repeated  that  if  the  renewed  Romanesque  art  which  Richardson  gave  us 
does  in  truth  continue  to  grow  and  flourish,  it  will  not  be  because  he  taught  us  to 
like  it  but  because  when  he  produced  it  we  liked  it  by  native  instinct.  This  can- 
not be  too  often  repeated,  especially  by  the  young  architect  for  his  own  guidance. 
If  he  clearly  understands  it  he  will  know  that,  however  great  his  admiration  for 
Richardson’s  success,  the  main  thing  he  has  to  do  is  to  seek  within  himself  the 
direction  which  his  own  work  should  take.  From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
his  career  Richardson  frankly  and  emphatically  expressed  himself,  and  thus  he 
did  the  very  best  that  it  was  possible  to  do  for  the  great  talent  which  had  been 
given  him.  It  remains  for  the  future  to  prove  whether  in  expressing  himself  he 
really  voiced  a broad  national  instinct  and  thus  was  fortunate  enough  to  do  the 
best  that  could  possibly  be  achieved  for  the  art  of  his  country.  But  no  man  can 
help  this  art  or  can  assist  Richardson’s  influence  upon  it  by  tr}  ing  to  Avork  in 
Richardson’s  manner  unless  he  feels  as  clearly  as  Richardson  felt  that  it  is  the 
best  manner. 

To  say  this  — to  say  that  we  should  not  blindly  accept  even  Ricliardson  as 


138 


HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON 


a guide  in  finding  out  the  things  which  suit  ns  best  in  art  — is  not  to  impugn 
his  talent  or  his  force.  It  needed  immense  talent  and  force  to  do  what  many 
cannot  help  believing  that  he  did  — clearly  to  reveal  the  fact  that  we  had  innate 
artistic  tastes.  To  do  more  than  this  — to  create  tastes  — is  not  within  the  com- 
pass of  hnman  power.  A man  may  teach  art  in  one  way  — by  demonstrating 
its  broad  principles  and  by  exciting  a spirit  which  shall  intelligently  appreciate 
good  results  of  every  kind  ; and  in  this  way  Richardson  was  a very  great  teacher. 
But  no  man  ever  taught  an  art,  in  the  sense  of  prescribing  a special  manner  of 
practice,  except  to  a peo])lc  for  whom  he  was  the  sympathetic  spokesman.  In 
fact,  the  highest  praise  we  can  give  to  an  artist  is  to  say  that  he  was  his  public’s 
spokesman.  All  narrowly  individual  merits  pale  before  the  great  merit  of  being 
the  one  who  says  first  what  his  fellow-countrymen  are  eager  to  hear  and  thus 
opens  other  mouths  to  give  full  expression  to  a national  instinct.  Not  to  he  iso- 
lated hut  to  he  representative  is  to  he  a true  leader,  a true  creator  in  art. 

Richardson’s  right  to  this  high  title  cannot  now  l)e  decided.  But  the  spirit  in 
which  he  labored  and  the  work  which  he  produced  have  already  done  so  much  for 
us,  and  in  the  coming  years  will  assuredly  do  so  much  more,  that  we  may  call  him 
with  confidence  not  only  the  greatest  American  artist  but  the  greatest  benefactor 
of  American  art  who  has  yet  been  born. 


APPENDIX. 


I. 


LIST  OF  HENRY  HOBSON  RICHARDSON’S  WORKS. 

This  list  lias  been  carefully  compiled  from  Ricliardsoii’s  office  books,  and  is  believed  to  be 
complete.  The  annexed  dates  show  when  the  respective  commissions  were  received.  In  the  sec- 
ond division  of  the  list  the  stars  mark  the  buildings  which  were  independently  designed  by  IMr. 
Gambrill,  all  the  others  having  been  practically  Richardson’s  own  work.  In  the  third  division 
the  stars  show  what  buildings  were  left  unfinished  at  Richardson’s  death  and  bequeathed  for  com- 
pletion to  his  successors,  Messrs.  Shepley,  Rutan,  and  Coolidge. 

WORKS  BY  H.  H.  RICHARDSON,  111  BROADWAY,  NEW  A"ORK. 


Church  of  the  Unity,  Springfield,  Mass November,  1866. 

Western  (now  Boston  & Albany)  R.  R.  Offices,  Springfield,  Mass 1867. 

Grace  Church,  West  Medford,  Mass 1867. 


WORKS  BY  GAMBRILL  & RICHARDSON,  6 HANOVER  STREET  AND  57  BROADWAY, 


NEW  YORK. 

House  for  B.  W.  Crowninshield,  Esq.,  Boston,  Mass April,  1868. 

North  Congregational  Church,  Springfield,  Mass May,  1868. 

House  for  Wm.  Dorsheimer,  Esq.,  Buffalo,  N.  Y October,  1868. 

*House  for  Edward  Stimpson,  Esq.,  Dedham,  Mass October,  1868. 

Agawam  National  Bank,  Springfield,  Mass April,  1869. 

*House  for  Jonathan  Sturges,  Esq.,  New  Yffirk,  N.  August,  1869. 

High  School,  Worcester,  Mass November,  1869. 

Exhibition  Building,  Cordova,  Argentine  Rep February,  1870. 

Hotel  Bi-unswick  (Alteration),  New  Yoi'k,  N.  Y" . March,  1870. 

Brattle  Square  Church,  Boston,  Mass July,  1870. 

State  Asylum  for  the  Insane,  Buffalo,  N.  Y^ Ylarch,  1871. 

Hampden  County  CourtJiouse,  Springfield,  Mass duly,  1871. 

Phoenix  Insurance  Co.’s  Building,  Hartford,  Conn hlarch,  1872. 

House  for  F.  YV.  Andrews,  Esq.,  Newport,  R.  I didy,  1872. 

Trinity  Church,  Boston,  Mass duly,  1872. 

American  Merchants’  Union  Express  Co.’s  Building,  Chicago,  111 September,  1872. 

House  for  Benjamin  F.  Bowles,  Esq.,  Springfield,  Alass Alay,  1873. 

*House  for  Dr.  J.  II.  Tinkham,  U.  S.  N.,  Owego,  N.  Y^ February,  1874. 

House  for  YVm.  Watts  Sherman,  Esq.,  Newport,  R.  I September,  1874. 

Cheney  Building,  Hartford,  Conn September,  1877). 

State  Capitol,  Albany,  N.  Y February,  187(). 

Winn  Alemorial  Public  Library,  YVoburn,  Alass Ylarch,  1877. 

Ames  Memorial  Public  Library,  North  Easton,  Alass September,  1877. 


WORKS  BY  11.  H.  RICHARDSON,  BROOKLINE.  MASS. 


Sever  Hall,  Harvard  University,  Cambridge,  Alass October,  1878. 

Ames  Alemorial  Town  Hall,  North  Easton,  Mass February,  1879. 

Rectory  for  Trinity  Clmrcli,  Boston,  Alass April,  1879. 


uo 


APPENDIX. 


Ames  Monument,  Sherman,  Wyoming  Territory 

Gate  Lodge  for  L.  L.  Ames,  Esq.,  North  Easton,  Mass 

Bridge  for  Department  of  Public  Parks,  Boston,  Mass 

Crane  Memorial  Public  Library,  Quincy,  Mass 

House  for  Dr.  John  Bryant,  Cohasset,  Mass 

City  Hall,  Albany,  N.  Y 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  K.  11.  Co.,  Auburndale,  Mass 

Austin  Hall  (Law  School),  Harvai’d  University,  Cambridge,  Mass 

House  for  E.  L.  Higginson,  Esq.,  Boston,  Mass 

House  for  N.  L.  Anderson,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Palmer,  Mass 

Pruyn  Monument,  Rural  Cemetery,  Albany,  N.  Y 

House  for  Rev.  Percy  Browne,  Marion,  Alass 

Station  for  Old  Colony  R.  R.  Co.,  North  Easton,  Mass 

Dairy  Building  for  Boston  & Albany  R,  R.  Co.,  Boston,  Mass 

House  for  Grange  Sard,  Jr.,  Esq.,  Albany,  N.  Y 

^Wholesale  Store  for  E.  L.  Ames,  Esq.,  Kingston  and  Bedford  Streets,  Boston,  Mass. 

Store  for  E.  L.  Ames,  Esq.,  Washington  Street,  Boston,  Ylass . . 

House  for  Mrs.  M.  E.  Stoughton,  Cambridge,  Mass 

House  for  Dr.  Walter  Channing,  Brookline,  Mass 

Billings  Library  for  University  of  Vermont,  Burlington,  Vt 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Chestput  Hill,  Mass 

Emmanuel  Church,  Allegheny  City,  Pa 

Converse  Memorial  Public  Library,  Malden,  Mass 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  South  Framingham,  Mass 

Station  for  Connecticut  River  R.  R.  Co.,  Holyoke,  Mass 

*House  for  Robert  Treat  Paine,  Esq.,  Waltham,  Mass 

House  for  John  Hay,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C 

House  for  Henry  Adams,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C. 

* Allegheny  County  Buildings,  Court-house  and  Jail,  Pittsbui’gh,  Pa 

Cottage  for  E.  L.  Ames,  Esq.,  North  Easton,  Mass 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Brighton,  Mass 

Baptist  Church,  Newton,  Mass 

^Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Waban,  Mass 

■^Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Woodland,  Mass 

^Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Eliot,  Mass 

House  for  Prof.  E.  W.  Gurney,  Beverly  Farms,  Mass 

^House  for  B.  H.  Warder,  Esq.,  Washington,  D.  C 

Drinking  Fountain  ( for  J.  J.  Bagley  Estate),  Detroit,  Mich . . 

^Wholesale  Store  for  Marshall  Field,  Esq.,  Chicago,  111 

*House  for  J.  J.  Glessner,  Esq.,  Chicago,  111 

*House  for  Franklin  MacVeagh,  Esq.,  Chicago,  111 

Station  for  Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Wellesley  Hills,  Mass.  

^Chamber  of  Commerce,  Cincinnati,  Ohio • 

*Union  Passenger  Station,  New  London,  Conn _ 

*House  for  J.,  R.  Lionberger,  Esq.,  St.  Louis,  Mo 

* Armory  Building  (for  J.  J.  Bagley  Estate),  Detroit,  Mich 

*House  for  Prof.  Hubert  Herkomer,  England 

*Store  for  E.  L.  Ames,  Esq.,  Harrison  Avenue*,  Boston,  Mass 

*House  for  Dr.  J.  H.  Bigelow,  Newton,  Mass 

*House  for  Win.  H.  Gratwick,  Esq.,  Buffalo,  N.  Y 


November,  1879. 
March,  1880. 
April,  1880. 

Alay,  1880. 
September,  1880. 
November,  1880. 
February,  1881. 
February,  1881. 
February,  1881. 
May,  1881. 
August,  1881. 
October,  1881. 
October,  1881. 
November,  1881. 
November,  1881. 
January,  1882. 
Ylarch,  1882. 
April,  1882. 
June,  1882. 
February,  1883. 
April,  1883. 
April,  1883. 
August,  1883. 
August,  1883. 
October,  1883. 
November,  1883. 
January,  1884. 
January,  1884. 
January,  1884. 
February,  1884. 
March,  1884. 
July,  1884. 
October,  1884. 
October,  1884. 
October,  1884. 
October,  1884. 
December,  1884. 
March,  1885. 
April,  1888. 
April,  1885. 

May,  1885. 

July,  1885. 

July,  1885. 
Allgust,  1885. 
September,  1885. 
November,  1885. 
December,  1885. 
January,  1886. 
January,  1886. 
January,  1886. 
February,  1886.. 


APPENDIX. 


141 


II. 

METHODS  OE  INSTEUCTION  FOLLOWED  AND  PROBLEMS  GIVEN  OUT  AT  THE 

ECOLE  DES  BEAUX  ARTS,  PARIS. 

In  explanation  of  certain  references  made  by  Monsieur  Gerhardt  and  by  Richardson  in  their 
letters  from  Paris,  it  may  be  said  that  the  methods  of  instruction  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts 
differ  in  important  ways  from  those  followed  in  our  own  art  schools.  In  the  Architectural 
Section,  as  in  all  the  others,  the  students  attend  in  common  upon  lectures  delivered  in  the  School 
by  various  professors.  But  their  practical  work  is  chiefly  carried  on  in  ateliers  which  are  con- 
nected with  the  School,  but  only  some  of  which  are  contained  in  its  building-.  Certain  artists  are 
commissioned  by  government  to  direct  such  studios ; and  a candidate  for  admission  to  the  School 
must  belong  to  one  of  them,  or,  at  least,  must  be  presented  for  his  entrance  examinations  by  one 
of  their  directors  — err  patrons,  as  they  are  called. 

The  sketches  for  the  problems  given  out  from  time  to  time  by  the  Professor  of  Architecture  are 
made  in  the  salle  de  concours  (competition-room)  of  the  School,  but  are  subsequently  studied  and 
elaborated  in  the  various  ateliers  ; and  then  the  designs  from  all  the  ateliers  are  shown  in  gen- 
eral competition  in  the  exhibition-galleries  of 'the  School.  There  is,  therefore,  a double  stimulus 
to  exertion  in  the  double  rivalry  which  is  excited.  Each  student  contends  fraternally  against  his 
fellows  in  his  own  atelier  ; yet  each  feels  a strong  desire  that  if  no  one  of  the  prizes  — which 
except  in  a few  instances  are  merely  honorary  — falls  to  him,  something  may  yet  be  won  by 
other  members  of  the  atelier,  and  his  pjatroPs  reputation  as  a teacher  profit  by  the  fact.  So 
strong,  indeed,  is  this  de.sire,  prompted  by  a generous  espn'it  de  corps,  that  individual  anflntions 
are  often  forgotten,  and  a student  whose  own  work  is  already  finished,  or  who  has  become  discour- 
aged over  his  prospects  of  success,  or  whose  admiration  for  some  cleverer  or  pity  for  some  weaker 
or  some  tardier  brother  prompts  him  to  self-sacrifice,  will  turn  from  his  proper  task  and  give  a 
helping  hand  elsewhere.  A lively  series  of  letters  published  in  The  American  Architect  and 
Building  News  ” in  1880  gives  an  excellent  idea  of  the  strenuous,  boisterous,  rough-and-tumble 
yet  cheerful  and  fraternal  life  in  these  ateliers. 

The  Prix  de  Rome  — the  most  coveted  distinction  which  any  student  can  gain  in  any  modern 
academy  of  art  — is  a prize  given  every  year  to  the  ablest  student  in  each  of  the  sections  of  the 
School.  It  entitles  him  to  four  years’  free  residence  at  the  French  Academy  of  Arts  in  Rome  — 
the  historic  Villa  Medici  — with  expenses  paid  thither  and  back,  and  with  a stipend  which  enables 
him  to  travel  widely  during  his  term.  The  only  obligation  is  that  certain  specified  pieces  of  work 
must  be  sent  to  Paris  at  certain  specified  intervals  of  time  and  must  remain  the  property  of  the 
government.  Moreover,  a winner  of  the  Prix  de  Rome,  when  his  term  is  over,  is  given  imme- 
diate employment  under  government  and,  of  course,  is  exceptionally  well  launched  in  life  by  the 
mere  fact  of  having  attained  the  academic  distinction.  The  competitions  for  this  prize  are  spe- 
cially conducted,  are  very  severe,  and  are  open  to  French  citizens  only.  All  the  other  privileges 
and  honors  of  the  School,  however,  are  freely  and  impartially  conferred  u})on  men  of  every 
nation. 

Several  circulars  for  the  ordinary  School  competitions  Avere  found  among  Richardson’s  papers, 
and  two  of  them  are  here  translated  in  full  to  give  an  idea  of  the  kind  of  Avork  demanded  and  of 
the  manner  in  Avhich  it  is  required  to  be  executed.  It  may  be  remarlved  that  neither  in  the 
more  elementary  nor  in  the  more  advanced  competition  is  any  perspective  draAving  desired. 

The  first  circiflar  reads  as  follows  : — 

Imperial  School  of  Fine  Arts.  Architectural  Section.  Second  Class. 

PK015LEM  FOR  THE  COMPETITION  OF  .TUNE  3,  1803. 

The  Professor  of  Theory  proposes  as  the  .sub  ject  of  competition  : A Casino,  over  a thermal  min- 
eral spring. 


142 


APPENDIX. 


This  Casino,  erected  on  the  promenade  of  one  of  onr  great  thermal  establishments,  is  to  cover  a 
spring  the  medicinal  cpialities  of  which  permit  only  the  drinking  of  the  water. 

As  the  drinkers  who  will  frecpient  it  must  find  places  for  recreation  and  for  study,  it  shall  he 

composed  as  follows  : — 
Ground-Floor : 

A vestibule. 

A general  assembly-room  where 
will  be  the  fountain,  and 
benches  or  exedras  for  con- 
versation. 

A billiard-room. 

One  or  two  staircases. 

Covered  promenades. 

All  to  be  adorned  with  statues  and 
other  works  of  art. 

Second  Floor : 

A room  for  retirement  and  study. 
A loggia  open  towards  the 
promenade. 

Terraces  ornamented  with  flowers. 
The  site  occupied  by  the  building 
shall  not  exceed  thirty  meters 


.AUTOGRAPH  SKETCH  BY  H.  H.  RICHARDSON,  ON  MARGIN  OF  CIRCULAR  RELATING  TO  CASINO 

COMPETITION. 


in  greatest  dimension. 


To  he  presented  as  sketches  : 

General  plan  of  the  ground  floor ; half  plan  of  second  floor ; elevation  and  section,  to  the 
scale  of  .005  per  meter. 

As  draiDinrjs : 

The  two  plans,  in  entirety,  to  a scale  of  one  centimeter  per  meter ; elevation  and  section  to 
double  this  scale.  The  construction  to  be  indicated  in  the  section. 

(Signed)  Le  Sueur. 

Paris,  June  3,  1863. 


The  second  circular  is  dated  two  years  later,  but  bears  neither  heading  nor  professor’s  signa= 
tare.  It  was  evidently  given  out  to  a higher  class  than  the  other,  as  the  problem  it  presents  is  of 
far  greater  difhculty. 

A PREPARATORY  SCHOOL  OF  MEUICINE,  WITH  A CLINICAL  HOSPITAL  ATTACHED,  FOR  THE  CHIEF 

TOWN  OF  A DEPARTMENT. 

This  establishment,  destined  in  part  for  the  teaching  of  medicine  and  in  part  for  the  treatment 
of  a limited  number  of  patients,  shall  consist  of  but  a single  edifice,  yet  shall  preserve  in  each 
of  its  main  divisions  — school  and  hospital  — the  character  appropriate  thereto. 

The  edifice  shall  be  composed  of. 

On  the  Ground-Floor : 

1st.  A rather  large  vestibule  preceding  a lecture-room  capable  of  holding  two  hundred  stu- 
dents. The  dependencies  of  this  room  shall  be : An  office  for  the  professors ; one  or  two 
rooms  for  anatomical  preparations ; a chemical  laboratory ; a pharmacy ; a room  for  the 
collection  of  surreal  instruments.  All  these  to  be  more  rather  than  fewer  in  number. 

O 

2d.  A small  library  to  serve  as  a study. 

3d.  A museum  of  anatomy. 

4th.  Janitor’s  and  secretary’s  rooms. 

5th.  A ward  for  twenty  male  patients  sulfering  from  complaints  which  need  surgical  atten- 
tion. 

6th.  Ditto  for  male  children  ditto. 


APPENDIX. 


143 


7th.  Ditto  for  female  patients  ditto. 

8th.  Ditto  for  female  children  ditto. 

9th.  A very  large  kitchen  with  all  appurtenances. 

10th.  Offices  for  gratuitous  consultations. 

11th.  Several  rooms  for  patients  with  contagious  diseases. 

12th.  A bath-room. 

13th.  A reception-room  for  patients. 

14th.  A mortuary  chamber. 

15th.  A small  chapel. 

16th.  A janitor’s  room  and  an  administration-room  with  living-rooms  above* 

17th.  A large  and  commodious  stairway  giving  access  to  the  second  floor. 

The  second  floor  as  well  as  the  third  shall  be  devoted  to  wards  for  patients,  — men,  women, 
and  children,  — of  whom  the  total  number  is  not  to  exceed  one  hundred  and  sixty  for  both  floors, 
divided  as  nearly  as  possible  twenty  to  a ward,  and  to  accommodations  for  fifteen  Sisters  of 
Charity  and  as  many  resident  students.  The  attics  to  be  devoted  to  servants’  cpxarters. 

The  building  shall  have  two  entirely  distinct  entrances,  — that  of  the  school  to  face  the  north 
and  that  of  the  hospital  the  south.  The  site,  including  the  gardens,  is  not  to  exceed  ninety  thou- 
sand square  meters  in  extent,  and  shall  be  contained  between  two  boundary  walls,  one  towards 
the  west,  the  other  towards  the  east.  An  isolated  site  must  be  reserved  for  a pavilion  for  dissect- 
ing purposes. 

Facade,  section,  and  plan  to  a scale  of  .002. 

Certain  parts  of  this  composition  must  be  monumental  without  exaggeration.  Other  parts,  on 
the  contrary,  must  be  of  great  simplicity  without  coldness.  Cheerfulness  rather  than  sombreness 
of  effect  is  to  be  aimed  at,  in  order  that  the  patient  may  not  enter  with  regret. 

February,  1865. 


III. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  RICHARDSON’S  DESCRIPTION  OF  TRINITY  CHURCH. 

. . . On  testing  the  ground  at  the  site  a compact  stratum  was  found,  overlaid  by  a quantity  of 
alluvium,  upon  which  a mass  of  gravel,  about  thirty  feet  deep,  had  been  filled  in.  Upon  such  a 
foundation  was  to  be  built  a structure,  the  main  feature  of  which  consisted  in  a tower  weighing 
nearly  nineteen  million  pounds,  and  supported  on  four  piers.  The  first  pile  was  driven  April  21, 
1873.  Every  pile  was  watched,  numbered,  its  place  marked  on  a plan  at  a large  scale,  and  a 
record  made  of  the  weight  of  the  hammer  with  which  it  was  driven,  the  distance  that  the  pile 
sank  at  the  last  three  blows,  and  the  height  from  which  the  hammer  fell.  With  these  indica- 
tions, a map  of  the  bearing  stratum  was  made,  with  contour  lines,  showing  the  surface  of  the 
clay  bed.  . . . 

On  the  10th  of  October,  1873,  the  contract  was  made  with  Messrs.  Norcross  Brothers,  of 
Worcester,  Mass.,  for  the  masonry  and  carpenter-work  of  the  structnre  ; the  building-committee, 
who  had  a large  quantity  of  stone  on  the  ground  brought  from  the  ruins  of  the  Summer  Street 
Church,  undertaking  to  furnish  all  the  foundation  stone,  except  that  for  the  great  piers  of  the 
tower,  which  it  was  necessary  to  construct  of  special  stones.  Under  the  centre  of  the  church  a 
space  ninety  feet  square  had  been  reserved  for  the  tower  foundation,  and  this  had  been  driv(Mi 
uniformly  full  of  piles,  as  near  together  as  practicable,  over  two  thousand  being  contained  in  the 
area.  This  area,  while  the  foundation  walls  for  the  other  parts  of  the  cluirch  Avere  building,  Avas 
sul)jected  to  various  processes,  in  preparation  for  its  future  duty. 

The  piles  witliin  these  limits  Avere  cut  off  at  “ grade  five,”  six  inches  loAver  than  the  ])iles  under 
the  other  portions  of  the  building,  as  an  excess  of  ])r(‘caution  against  any  failure  of  Avater  for 
keeping  the  Avood  saturated.  The  ground  was  then  excavated  around  the  heads  of  the  ])iles  to  a 


144 


APPENUIX. 


depth  of  two  feet,  and  replaced  with  concrete.  The  concrete  was  mixed  on  the  ground,  put 
into  harrows,  and  wheeled  on  plank-waxys  laid  on  the  heads  of  the  }>iles  to  its  destination,  and 
thrown' into  the  excavation.  Four  successive  layers,  each  six  inches  thick,  were  put  in,  and  each 
was  thoroughly  compacted  with  wooden  rammers.  The  upper  surface  of  the  concrete  was  kept 
one  inch  helow  the  heads  of  the  piles,  on  the  theory  that  the  piles  heing  the  true  support  of  the 
structure,  it  was  important  that  every  stone  should  rest  tirmly  upon  them,  without  coming  in  con- 
tact witli  the  concrete,  Avhich  might  some  time  sink,  by  the  settlement  of  the  o-ravel  fillino-,  and 
cause  dislocation  of  any  masonry  which  might  rest  partly  upon  it  and  partly  on  the  unyielding  piles. 
The  concrete,  however,  had  an  important  use  in  preventing  the  lateral  motion  of  the  piles,  and  to 
some  exent  connecting  them  together. 

Before  the  close  of  this  season,  the  first  course  of  one  of  the  four  pyramids  which  form  the 
foundation  of  the  tower  piers  had  been  laid  on  the  piles,  and  as  an  ex})eriment  the  outside  joints 
were  cemented  np,  and  the  whole  was  then  grouted  with  cement  and  sand  till  the  joints  and  the 
space  between  the  stone  and  concrete  were  flushed  full.  The  pumping,  which  had  been  constantly 
kept  up  to  free  the  excavation  from  the  water  which  came  in  through  the  gravelly  bottom,  then 
ceased,  and  the  water  was  allowed  to  enter  the  cavity,  which  it  soon  filled  to  the  depth  of  about 
four  feet,  and  the  operations  on  the  ground  were  sus])ended  until  the  following  spring.  . . . 

On  resnming  oi)erations  in  the  spring  of  1874,  it  was  found  that  the  tide  water,  coming  in 
through  the  gravel,  had  affected  the  setting  of  the  cement.  The  concrete  was  in  a favorable  con- 
dition, but  the  grouting  of  the  masonry  which  had  been  started  for  the  piers  was  still  very  soft, 
although  made  with  a cement  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  sets  rapidly.  In  view  of  this 
unexplained  difficulty,  as  well  as  the  need  of  proceeding  rapidly  with  the  piers  without  being- 
obliged  to  wait  for  the  setting  of  any  doid)tful  cement,  it  was  thought  best  to  reduce  the  matter 
to  certainty  by  using  Portland  cement  throughout  the  piers.  A variety  of  English  and  French 
Portland  cements  was  tried,  hut  the  result  seemed  equally  good  with  all,  some  difference  in  the 
rapidity  of  setting  heing  the  principal  variation.  The  stones  already  set  were  taken  up  and 
relaid,  and  with  the  substitution  of  the  different  cement,  treated  as  before;  the  outer  joints  being 
])acked  close,  and  the  inside  grouted  until  completely  full. 

At  first  the  Portland  cement  was  handled  like  Rosendale  in  similar  circumstances,  the  cement 
being  mixed  rather  dry,  and  after  being  put  into  the  joints  with  trowels,  compressed  as  much  as 
possible  with  rammers ; but  further  experience  and  careful  trials  showed  equally  good  results  by 
first  filling  the  larger  joints  with  a trowel  and  the  drier  mortar,  and  then  mixing  some  rather  rich 
cement,  sufficiently  liquid  to  pour  into  the  smaller  joints  from  a bucket,  stirring  it  well  with  the 
thicker  portion,  until  the  whole  was  of  a methuni  consistency  and  had  penetrated  into  every  inter- 
stice of  the  stone-work.  Each  course  was  leveled  up  to  a uniform  surface  with  cement,  and  chips 
where  necessary,  before  the  next  course  was  begun,  and  the  upper  bed  of  the  third  course  from 
the  top,  and  all  the  vertical  and  horizontal  joints  of  the  two  upper  courses  were  taken  out  of 
wind  and  pointed,  so  as  to  form  a perfectly  close  joint. 

Toward  the  close  of  1874,  the  four  pyramids  of  solid  granite,  each  thirty-five  feet  square  at 
the  base  and  seven  feet  square  at  the  top,  and  seventeen  feet  high,  were  completed  ; the  main 
walls  of  the  church  heing  then  well  advanced,  and  the  chapel,  which  had  been  urged  foiavard 
with  great  rapidity,  nearly  finished.  . . . 

During  the  winter,  the  stone  for  the  remainder  of  the  building  was  cut,  the  larger  portion  of 
the  work  heing  upon  the  granite  for  the  iq)per  part  of  the  piers  which  carry  the  tower.  These 
were  blocks  of  W esterly  granite,  each  five  feet  by  two  and  one-half,  and  twenty  inches  high,  with 
hammered  vertical  and  horizontal  joints.  These  were  laid  in  cement,  in  pairs,  forming  a pillar 
five  feet  square  in  section,  the  joints  of  alternate  courses  crossing.  For  laying  these  piers  and 
the  adjoining  walls,  as  well  as  the  arches  between  the  piers,  a massive  scaffold  was  built,  standing 
independently  upon  the  four  pyramids  of  the  tower  foundation.  Four  derricks  stood  upon  this 
structure,  and  not  only  the  pier  stones,  weighing  two  tons  each,  were  easily  handled,  but  the 
same  stage  served  afterward  to  carry  the  centres  for  the  great  arches,  and  the  whole  superstruc- 
ture of  scaffolding,  to  the  very  top  of  the  tower,  no  outside  staging  heing  used.  This  “ great 
stage,”  as  it  was  called,  remained  in  place  for  more  than  two  years. 


APPENDIX. 


145 


In  the  construction  of  the  great  arches  and  for  tying-  the  piers  at  the  summit  to  the  walls  of 
the  nave  and  transept  iron  was  used,  but  sparingly,  and  as  a matter  of  precaution  rather  than 
necessity,  the  weights  and  points  of  application  of  the  adjoining  walls  having  been  calculated  to 
furnish  sufficient  resistance  to  the  thrust  of  the  arches  without  the  aid  of  ties.  In  p-eneral, 
throughout  the  huilding,  the  use  of  iron  was  avoided  as  far  as  might  he,  and  with  the  exception 
of  the  staircase  turret,  which  is  supported  hy  a double  set  of  iron  beams  over  the  vestibule  below, 
no  masonry  in  the  church  is  dependent  on  metal  for  support.  . . . 


lY. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  MEMORANDA  AND  LETTERS  RELATING  TO  THE  CATHEDRAL 

DRAWINGS. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  RICHARDSOx’s  MEMORANDA  SUBMITTED  WITH  THE  DRAWINGS. 

. . . Entering  the  church  by  the  western  porches,  one  finds  on  the  left  of  the  ample  vesti- 
bules the  baptistry,  a vaulted  polygonal  apartment  somewhat  more  than  eighteen  feet  in  diameter, 
having  the  font  in  the  centre.  . . . On  the  right,  and  corresponding  with  the  baptistry,  is  a grand 
staircase  leading  to  the  gallery  over  the  western  vestibules.  Smaller  spiral  staircases  lead  to  the 
smaller  galleries  over  the  transept  entrances,  and  still  smaller  ones  on  the  western  fi-ont  lead  to 
the  triforium  galleries.  . . . Besides  the  great  western  porches  and  the  transept  porches,  cloister 
entrances  are  provided  which  give  that  protection  from  the  weather  so  necessary  in  our  climate.  . . . 
The  vestries  for  the  bishop,  the  clergy  and  the  choir  are  placed  in  chambers  whose  circular  form, 
subdivided  as  shown  on  the  plan,  makes  them  especially  well  adapted  to  the  purpose  for  which 
they  are  designed.  These  rooms  are  reached  by  the  ambulatory  which  runs  around  the  apse  and 
which  is  divided  off  by  a wrought-iron  screen,  so  as  to  give  a retired  communication  to  the  ves- 
tries while  leaving  the  arcades  perfectly  open  and  thus  not  interfering  with  the  grandeur  of  the 
design.  These  ambulatories  are  filled  with  light  from  the  windows  above  the  roofs  of  the  vestries 
all  around  the  apse.  ... 

It  is  proposed  to  build  the  church  of  some  warm  granite  with  Longmeadow  brown  sandstone, 
the  roofs  of  the  towers  to  be  of  stone,  the  other  roofs  of  slate.  Messrs.  Norcross  Brothers’  esti- 
mate includes  everything  to  complete  the  church  as  shown  in  the  drawings,  with  all  stained-glass 
windows,  carvings  and  sculpture,  and  all  furniture  shown  in  drawings.  . . . 

The  bid  of  Messrs.  Norcross  Brothers  for  the  temporary  cathedral  includes  the  foundations  of 
the  vaulted  tower  weighing  twenty  thousand  tons.  These  foundations  will  be  nearly  one  hundred 
feet  square,  of  the  best  granite,  laid  in  a bed  of  concrete.  This  bid  includes  also  the  clerestory 
walls,  which  are  the  highest  in  the  church  (except  the  gable  walls),  and  also  the  seats  and  other 
necessary  furniture,  and,  in  short,  a temporary  church  as  shown  in  the  plans  complete  for  use  in 
every  particular.  This  temporary  church  is  so  arranged  that  the  progress  of  the  work  in  the  rest 
of  the  cathedral  can  proceed  without  in  any  way  disturbing  the  services  of  the  church  in  the  tem- 
porary structure  except  for  a short  interval  when  the  roof  will  have  to  be  pierced  to  carry  up  tlie 
piers  and  walls. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTER  TO  THE  BISHOP  OP  THE  DIOCESE  OF  ALBANY,  MARCH  30,  1883. 

In  the  interior  [of  the  completed  structure]  (as  shown  in  tlie  section)  the  arches  of  the 
triforium  are  open  with  a passage  between  them  and  the  wall,  and  in  tlie  clerestory  is  a similar 
passage,  so  that  the  clerestory  windows  are  seen  through  these  open  arches.  . . . 

The  main  walls  of  the  church  whicli  measure  six  feet  thick  on  plan  are,  for  the  sake  of  econ- 
omy, to  be  built  hollow.  They  have  to  be  made  as  thick  as  six  feet  on  account  of  tlie  jiassages 
above.  These  walls  would  be  built  eighteen  inches  thick  outside,  eighteen  inches  thick  inside, 
with  a hollow  space  of  three  feet  in  the  middle,  the  two  walls  being  securely  tied  together  at 


14G 


APPENDIX. 


proper  intervals.  The  walls  of  my  design  (l)otli  the  clerestory  and  the  aisle  walls),  if  measured, 
will  be  found  not  very  high,  nor  are  the  western  towers  of  great  height,  hut  kept  within  bounds 
in  order  to  give  greater  value  and  interest  to  the  main  feature  of  the  composition,  the  great, 
many-sided  central  tower  crowning  and  dominating  the  whole  mass. 

With  regard  to  the  temporary  structure,  I Avould  add  that  it  is  proposed  to  carry  out  the  cen- 
tral portion  of  the  completed  plan  as  the  temporary  church,  carrying  up  the  piers  as  far  as  to  the 
top  of  their  capitals,  and  surrounding  the  whole  by  a temporary  thin  brick  wall  which  could  be 
easily  taken  down  when  the  great  church  outside  of  it  is  completed. 

The  hid  for  the  temporary  structure  includes,  as  was  said,  the  massive  foundations  of  the 
great  tower  and  of  the  highest  walls  of  the  church.  My  experience  with  the  uncertain  soil  of 
Alljany,  which  has  been  somewhat  extensive,  has  led  me  to  see  the  necessity  of  treating  these 
foundations  ^\ith  the  greatest  care.  For  this  reason  the  greater  part  of  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars  allotted  for  the  temporary  building  would  have  to  be  in  any  case  put  below 
ground.  And  I have  taken  great  care  to  reduce  the  height  of  my  walls,  both  of  nave  and  chan- 
cel, to  a minimum  size  consistent  with  largeness  of  effect.  I beg  that  you  and  the  chapter  will 
give  particular  consideration  to  the  estimates ; for  however  much  I should  like  to  make  you  a 
more  attractive  offer,  I -feel  that  the  bid  for  the  temporary  structure  is  as  low  as  it  could  he  con- 
sistent with  thorough  workmanship. ' 

If  the  interior  of  the  cathedral  is  made  of  brick  with  a cement  surface,  only  the  piers,  arches, 
vaulting-ribs,  and  mouldings  being  of  stone,  the  whole  building  can  be  completed  within  one  mil- 
lion dollars.  This  woidd  give  a great  opportunity  for  a magnificent  treatment  of  the  interior 
in  color  — a treatment  at  least  as  noble  as  coidd  be  made  in  stone,  and  one  which  is  especially 
adapted  to  our  climate,  which,  with  its  long  winter  of  five  months,  seems  to  call  for  warm  and 
cheerful  interiors  glowing  vdth  color.  Nor  can  anything  be  more  imposing  and  solemn,  more 
truly  religioiis  in  sentiment,  than  a great  church-interior  appropriately  decorated  in  color,  as  is 
well  known  to  any  one  familiar  Avith  the  church  of  St.  Mark  at  V enice ; and  indeed  such  a treat- 
ment is  supported  by  the  precedent  of  many  of  the  noblest  church-interiors  of  Europe.  A color 
treatment  on  a cement  surface  has  also  this  advantage ; that,  while  the  interior  can  be  agreeably 
and  cheaply  finished  at  once,  it  gives  opportunity  for  adding  from  time  to  time  to  the  decorations 
as  funds  are  given  for  the  purpose,  and  thus  the  interior  grows  in  richness  and  beauty,  solemnity 
and  sionificaiice. 

As,  however,  in  the  conditions  no  sum  is  mentioned  as  the  limit  of  cost  of  the  completed 
design,  I most  respectfidly  claim  that  the  architect  -should  be  chosen  solely  with  reference  to  the 
merits  of  his  design  as  fulfilling  in  the  best  way  the  conditions  propounded.  If  the  chapter  then 
desire  to  limit  the  cost  of  the  completed  design,  the  chosen  architect  can  so  modify  his  design  as 
to  meet  this  new  condition,  or  submit,  if  necessary,  a new  design  whose  cost  shall  be  within  the 
sum  they  decide  upon. 

In  conclusion  I should  like  to  say  a word  with  regard  to  the  effects  I have  aimed  at  in  my 
design.  In  the  first  place  I have  tried  to  avoid  making  my  cathedral  merely  an  enlarged  parish 
church.  And  I have  striven  to  give  the  church  that  dignity  and  strength,  that  calmness  and  re- 
pose Avliich  should  be  the  attributes  of  a great  cathedral.  These  qualities,  it  seemed  to  me,  could 
only  1)6  obtained  by  the  most  carefully  studied  proportion  of  parts  and  masses,  by  the  greatest 
simplicity  of  form  and  treatment,  — for  grandeur  is  always  characterized  by  simplicity,  — and  by 
unity  of  design,  to  obtain  which  I have  used  one  consistent  treatment  around  the  whole  structure, 
interior  and  exterior,  carrying  some  strong  featiires  around  the  whole  building,  tying  it  together, 
as  it  were,  with  great  bands,  while  not  neglecting  to  give  to  the  different  parts  of  the  cathedral 
that  distinctive  treatment  Avhich  they  seemed  to  demand. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTER  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  THE  DIOCESE  OF  ALBANY  TO  RICHARDSON, 

MAY  6,  1883. 

. . . Apart  from  all  other  considerations,  the  great  expense  of  the  completed  building  and 
the  unsatisfactoriness  of  the  temporary  structure  made  the  acceptance  of  the  plans  impossible. 


APPENDIX. 


147 


Even  the  suggestion  of  an  interior  finishing-  in  plaster  and  colors  (to  which  I could  never  consent) 
would  have  left  too  great  an  expense.  What  I wanted  to  say  to  you  . . . was  to  thank  you  for 
your  interest  in  the  matter,  to  assure  you  that  your  enthusiasm  has  inspired  us  with  a new  feeling 
of  interest  and  admiration  for  you  and  your  work,  and  to  add  that  while  I consider  the  plans 
which  we  have  accepted  better  suited  to  the  cathedral  worship  of  the  Episcopal  Church  and  more 
adapted  to  our  needs  in  Albany,  I recognize  the  dignity  of  your  design,  with  most  of  whose  lead- 
ing features  I am  thoroughly  in  sympathy.  I trust  the  opportunity  may  offer  for  its  carrying  out 
elsewhere.  . . . 


V. 

H.  H.  RICHARDSON’S  PROFESSIONAL  CIRCULAR  FOR  INTENDING  CLIENTS ; USED 
DURING  THE  LATTER  PART  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

Dear  Sir : The  following  statement  was  prepared  in  reply  to  the  request  of  a client  for  an 
explanation  of  the  basis  of  my  charges,  and  of  the  responsibilities  which,  as  an  architect,  I un- 
dertake : — 

It  has  been  my  practice  to  charge  five  per  cent,  on  the  cost  of  the  building,  with  an  additional 
charge,  which  covers  : 1st,  the  visits  of  the  clerk  of  the  work ; 2d,  his  traveling  expenses ; 3d, 
my  time  lost  in  traveling ; 4th,  my  traveling  exjienses. 

My  habit  at  one  time  was  to  charge  for  these  by  items,  but  I found  this  was  as  annoying  to  my 
clients  as  to  myself,  and  I now  prefer  to  charge  a fixed  commission  of  eight  per  cent,  for  all  work 
costing  more  than  ten  thousand  dollars,  unless  the  work  is  so  far  distant  that  the  extra  charge  of 
three  per  cent,  will  not  cover  loss  of  time  and  traveling  expenses. 

When  interior  work,  such  as  mantels,  wainscoting,  ceilings,  carving  on  walls,  columns,  etc.,  is 
done  separately,  the  charge  is  very  much  higher  than  five  per  cent.,  sometimes  as  high  as  fifty 
per  cent.  But  the  charge  of  eight  per  cent,  covers  everything  inside  and  out  that  is  not  movable 
furniture.  I undertake,  by  myself,  or  my  clerk  of  the  works,  to  see  that  all  the  necessary  super- 
vision is  given  to  the  building.  The  duration  and  extent  of  such  supervision  will  be  determined 
by  the  nature  and  character  of  the  work.  I do  not  agree  to  supervise,  for  instance,  the  laying  of 
each  brick  or  the  driving  of  each  nail,  but  I do  agree  to  exercise  such  supervision  as  is  calculated 
to,  and  ordinarily  vdll,  secure  the  furnishing  of  materials  of  the  kind  and  quality  required  by  the 
contract,  and  the  performance  of  the  work  in  accordance  with  the  plans  and  specifications,  and  in 
a good,  workmanlike,  and  substantial  manner. 

In  so  far  as  concerns  the  plans  and  specifications,  I guarantee  that  the  building,  when  erected 
in  accordance  therewith,  shall  be  suited  to  the  uses  for  which  it  is  erected,  and  that  the  specifica- 
tion shall  embrace  all  that  will  be  required  to  completely  finish  it,  unless  it  shall  have  been  other- 
wise expressly  understood  between  the  owner  and  myself. 

For  any  errors  of  construction  which  appear  on  my  plans,  or  for  any  failure  to  properly  super- 
vise the  work,  whereby  the  building,  when  completed,  is  rendered  insecure  or  unsafe,  or  the  stories 
or  rooms  are  made  inaccessible  or  incapable  of  being  devoted  to  the  uses  for  which  the  plans 
showed  they  were  intended,  I consider  myself  responsible. 

In  preparing  the  architectural  design,  I agree,  after  consultation  with  the  owner,  to  iise  my  best 
judgment.  I cannot,  however,  guarantee  that  the  building,  when  completed,  shall  conform  to  his 
ideas  of  beaiity  or  taste,  or  indeed  to  those  of  any  person  or  school.  I can  only  agree  to  examine 
and  consider  this  matter  well  and  carefully,  and  to  recommend  nothing  which  is  inconsistent  Avith 
my  own  ideas  upon  these  subjects. 

O^Of  course,  when  I follow  the  owner’s  positive  instructions,  I consider  myself  relieved  from  all 
responsibility  whatsoever.  Yours  very  truly, 

H.  H.  Richardson. 


INDEX. 


Adams,  Charles  Francis,  Jr.,  Citations  from  Address 
by,  4,  38. 

Adams,  Henry,  House  for,  106-108  ; see  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Agawam  Bank,  Springfield,  Mass.,  described,  .50 ; 56, 

102. 

Albany,  N.  Y.,  see  Capitol,  Cathedral,  City  Hall,  List  of 
Works,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Allegheny  City,  Pa.,  see  Emmanuel  Church,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Allegheny  County  Buildings,  see  Court-house  (Pittsburgh), 
and  Jail. 

“ American  Architect  and  Building  News,”  9 (note),  74 
(note),  98  (note),  141. 

American  Artists,  Richardson’s  influence  upon,  40,  134, 
135  ; in  Paris,  14,  15. 

American  Merchants’  Union  Express  Co.’s  Building,  Chi- 
cago, 111.,  5.5. 

Ames  Building,  Boston,  described,  85,  86  ; 96  ; see  List 
of  Illustrations. 

Ames,  F.  L.,  Lodge  for,  see  Lodge  ; Stores  for,  see  Stores ; 
see  List  of  Works. 

Ames  Memorial  Library,  North  Easton,  described,  68, 
69  ; 78  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Ames  Memorial  Town  Hall,  Nortli  Easton,  Mass.,  de- 
scribed, 71,  72;  122  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Ames  Monument,  Sherman,  Wyoming  Territory,  72. 

Ames,  Oakes,  71. 

Ames,  Oliver,  71. 

Andirons,  Sketches  for,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Andre,  Professor,  7,  8,  10,  128  (note). 

Andrews,  F.  W.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Arles,  see  St.  Trophime. 

Artists,  American,  see  American  Artists. 

Asylum  for  the  Insane,  Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  see  Insane  Asy- 
lum. 

“ Atlantic  Monthly,”  Citation  from,  see  Van  Brunt.  Henry. 

Auburndale,  Mass.,  see  Railroad  Stations,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Austin  Hall,  see  Law  School. 

Bagley  Estate,  Armory  for,  see  List  of  Works  ; Foun- 
tain for,  see  Fountain. 

Bank,  Springfield,  see  Agawam  Bank. 

Baptist  Church,  Newton,  Mass.,  22 ; described,  94,  95 ; 
.120  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Bartholdi,  53. 

Bein,  .John  D.,  3. 

Benjamin,  .ludah  P.,  4. 

Beverly  Farms,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Bigelow,  .1.  II.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 


Billings  Library,  Burlington,  Vt.,  78  ; described,  80,  81  ; 
see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Bishop  of  Diocese  of  Albany,  Citation  from  letter  of, 
146,  147. 

Blackman,  George,  4. 

Bloor,  A.  J.,  Citation  from  article  by,  in  “ Building 
Budget,”  117. 

Boston,  Mass.,  see  Ames  Building,  Brattle  Square  Church, 
Bridge,  Trinity  Church,  Rectory,  List  of  Works,  and 
List  of  Illustrations. 

“ Boston  Evening  Transcript,”  Citation  from,  17,  18. 

Boston  & Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Office  Building  for,  see  Of- 
fice Building ; Stations  for,  see  R.  R.  Stations  (Au- 
burndale, Chestnut  Hill,  North  Easton,  Palmer,  Waban), 
and  List  of  Works. 

Bowles,  Benj.  F.,  House  for,  103. 

Bradlee,  Joseph,  Citation  from  letter  of,  6,  7 ; 9 (note). 

Brattle  Square  Church,  Boston,  19,  21 ; described,  51-53  ; 
.55,  56,  58,  61,  63,  83 ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Bridge,  Boston,  Mass.,  72. 

Brighton,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Brookline,  Mass.,  see  Library,  Richardson’s ; Offices,  Rich- 
ardson’s ; List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Brooks,  Rev.  Phillips,  27, 36  ; citations  from  article  by,  in 
“Harvard  Monthly,”  37,  38  (note),  40,  43. 

Browne,  Percy,  House  for,  described,  105, 106  ; 112, 120  ; 
see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Brunswick,  Hotel,  see  List  of  Works. 

Bryant,  J.  B.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  see  Gratwick,  Insane  Asylum,  List  of 
Works,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

“ Building  Budget,”  Citation  from,  see  Bloor,  A.  J. 

Burchell,  Mary,  1. 

Burgess,  28. 

Burlington,  Vt.,  see  Billings  Libraiy,  and  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Burne-Jones,  28. 

Burrows,  Honora,  1. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  see  Law  School,  Sever  Hall,  List  of 
Works,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Capitol,  New  York  State,  Albany,  20,  21  ; described,  73- 
77 ; 82,  120,  135  (note)  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Cathedral  Church  at  Albany,  Designs  for  pro])osed,  22, 
23,  86  ; described,  87,  89  ; 95  ; extracts  from  letters 
and  memoranda  relating  to,  145-147  ; see  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Chairs,  Sketches  for,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Chamber  of  Commerce,  Cincinnati,  Ohio,  described,  97-99; 
111,  120  (note),  122  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Channing,  W.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 


150 


INDEX. 


Chapel,  Proposed,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Cheney  Building,  Hartford,  described,  67  ; projjosed  ad- 
dition to,  68  (note) ; 85,  96  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Chestnut  Hill,  Mass.,  see  Railroad  Stations,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Chicago,  111.,  see  Field  Building,  Glessner,  List  of  Works, 
and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Churches,  see  Baptist  Church,  Brattle  Square  Church, 
Cathedral,  Grace  Church,  North  Church,  Church  of  the 
Unity,  List  of  Works,  .and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Church  of  the  Unity.  Springfield,  Mass.,  18,  19,  21  ; de- 
scribed, 47-49  ; see  List  of  Illustr.ations. 

Cincinnati,  Ohio,  see  Ch.ainber  of  Commerce,  and  List  of 
Illustr.ations. 

Circular,  Rich.ardson’s  Professional,  147. 

Cohasset,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

College  Buildings,  see  Billings  Library,  Law  School,  and 
Sever  Hall. 

Commercial  Buildings,  95,  96  ; see  American  Merchants’ 
Union,  Ames  Building,  Chamber  of  Commerce,  Cheney 
Building.  Field  Building,  Phoenix  Insurance  Co.,  and 
List  of  Works. 

Connecticut  River  R.  R.,  Station  for,  see  R.  R.  Stations 
(Holyoke). 

Converse  Memorial  Library,  Malden,  78  ; described,  81  ; 
see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Cottage  for  F.  L.  Ames,  see  List  of  Works. 

Cordova,  Argentine  Rep.,  see  Exhibition  Building. 

County  Buildings,  Pittsburgh,  Pa.,  see  Court-house,  Jail. 

Court-house,  Springfield,  Mass.,  described,  54,  55  ; 58,  71, 
72. 

Court-house,  Pittsburgh,  23,  36  ; described,  89-93 ; 95, 
110,  111,  112,  122  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Crane  Memorial  Library,  Quincy,  Mass.,  described,  78- 
80  ; 81,  110,  112,  122  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Crowninshield,  B.  W.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Dairy  Building,  Boston,  see  List  of  Works. 

Dedham,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

De  Morgan,  28. 

Detroit,  Mich.,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Dickenson,  Francis,  1. 

Dickenson,  Mary,  1. 

Dorsheimer,  Lieut.  Gov.  Wm.,  74  ; house  for,  see  List  of 
W orks. 

Drawings  by  H.  H.  Richardson,  128  ; see  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Dwelling-houses,  described,  102-110  (Bowles,  103  ; Sher- 
man, 103  ; Trinity  Rectory,  103,  105  ; Ames  Lodge, 
103, 104 ; Higginson,  104, 105 ; Anderson,  105 ; Browne, 
105, 106,  112,  120  ; Hay,  106-108  ; Adams,  106-108  ; 
Warder,  108,  109;  Glessner,  110;  Herkomeiv  110 ; 
Gratwick,  110;  MacVeagh,  see  List  of  Illusti’ations ; 
Lionberger,  see  List  of  Illustrations)  ; see  List  of 
Works. 

Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts,  Paris,  6,  10,  15,  16, 117  ; methods 
of  instruction  at,  141—143. 

Eidlitz,  Leopold,  20,  73,  74,  75,  76. 

Eliot,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Emmanuel  Church,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

England,  see  Herkomer. 


Evans,  29,  79. 

Exhibition  Building  for  Cordova,  Argentine  Republic,  51. 

Express  Co.’s  Building,  Chicago,  111.,  see  American  Mer- 
chants’ Union. 

Family,  Sinwiving  Members  of  Richardson’s,  3,  46. 

Field  Building,  Chicago,  23,  36  ; described,  95-97 ; 110, 
111,  120,  122  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

First  Work,  Richardson’s,  see  Church  of  the  Unity. 

Foulke,  Joseph,  3. 

Foulke,  Margaret,  3. 

Fountain,  Detroit,  Mich.,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Franks,  Rev.  Mr.,  27. 

Freeman,  Prof.  E.  A.,  opinion  of  Richardson’s  work, 
77  (note). 

Gambrill,  Charles,  19,  21,  50,  69,  123. 

Gas  Bracket,  Sketch  for,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Gate  Lodge,  North  Easton,  Mass.,  see  Lodge. 

Gautier,  Theophile,  16. 

Gerhardt,  Adolph,  7 ; citation  from  letter  of,  8,  9 ; 32, 
141. 

Glessner,  W.  H.,  House  for,  110 ; see  List  of  Illustra- 
tions. 

Grace  Church,  West  Medford,  Mass.,  18,  19;  described, 
49,  50  ; 56,  103. 

Gratwick,  W.  H.,  House  for,  110  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Gi’eatest  Work,  Richardson’s,  see  Court-house  (Pittsburgh). 

Gurney,  E.  W.,  House  foi*,  see  List  of  Works. 

Hampden  County  Conrt-house,  see  Court-house  (Spring- 
field). 

Hartford,  Conn.,  see  Cheney  Building,  Phoenix  Insurance 
Co.’s  Building,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Harvard  University,  Richardson’s  life  at,  4,  5 ; see  Law 
School,  Sever  Hall,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

“ Harvard  Monthly,”  Citations  from,  see  Brooks,  Rev. 
Phillips. 

Hay,  John,  House  for,  106,  108  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Hayden,  Dr.  John  Cole,  5. 

Hayden,  .Julia  Gorham,  5,  9,  18. 

Herkomer,  H.,  House  for,  110. 

Higginson,  F.  L.,  House  for,  104,  105. 

High  School  Building,  Worcester,  Mass.,  described,  50, 
51 ; 56,  102, 103. 

Hittorf,  14. 

Hobson  & Co.,  1.  * 

Holyoke,  Mass.,  see  Railroad  Stations,  and  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Houses,  see  Dwelling-houses. 

Hunt,  Richard  M.,  15. 

Ice-house,  Proj^osed,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Illustrations,  List  of,  vii. 

Insane  Asylum,  Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  53. 

Insurance  Co.’s  Building,  Phoenix,  Hai’tford,  Conn.,  see 
Phoenix. 

.Jail,  Pittsburgh,  Pa.,  30 ; described,  91 ; see  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Jaques,  Letter  from  Mr.,  describing  Richardson’s  Euro- 
pean journey  in  1882,  27—32. 


INDEX. 


151 


Labouisse,  Mrs.  John  W.,  3. 

Labrouste,  13,  14. 

Last  Work,  Richardson’s,  see  Gratwick. 

Law  School  Building,  Cambridge,  described,  83-85  ; 105, 
see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Leperre,  8. 

Letters,  Citations  from  — 

An  Architect  to  Richardson  (1870  ?),  51. 

An  Artist  to  Author,  40. 

Bishop  of  Albany  to  Richardson  (1883),  146,  147. 
Bradlee,  Joseph,  to  Eds.  “ American  Architect  and 
Building  News,”  6,  7. 

Friend  in  Boston  to  Richardson  (1865),  16  (note). 
Gerhardt,  A.,  to  Eds.  “ American  Architect  and  Build- 
ing News,”  8,  9. 

Jaques  to  Author,  27-32. 

Olmsted,  F.  L.,  to  Author,  72. 

Olmsted,  F.  L.,  to  Eds.  “ American  Architect  and  Build- 
ing News,”  27  ; 118,  119. 

Pu2nl  of  Richardson’s  to  Author,  128  (note). 
Richardson  to  his  Uncle  (1860),  6. 

Richardson  to  Miss  Hayden  (1862),  10-13. 

Richardson  to  his  Family  (1882),  33,  34. 

Richardson  to  Bishoj)  of  Albany  (1883),  145,  146. 
Richardson,  W.  P.,  to  Author,  3,  4. 

Richardson,  W.  P.,  to  Richardson  (1865?),  20. 

Sjners,  R.  Phend,  to  Eds.  “ American  Architect  and 
Building  News,”  6,  9. 

Leverich,  Mrs.  Henry,  3. 

Library  Buildings,  Public,  see  Ames  Memorial,  Billings, 
Converse,  Crane,  Winn,  and  List  of  Illustrations ; de- 
sign for  a,  83 ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Library,  Richardson’s,  124,  125 ; see  List  of  Illustra- 
tions. 

Light-house,  Proposed,  see  List  of  Illustrations. 
Lionberger,  J.  R.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works,  and 
List  of  Illustrations. 

List,  Chronological,  of  Richardson’s  Works,  139, 140. 
Littell,  E.  J.,  19. 

Lodge  for  F.  L.  Ames,  North  Easton,  Mass.,  103, 104 ; 
see  List  of  Illustrations. 

MaeVeagh,  F.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

McKim  & White,  Messrs.,  their  house  next  Richardson’s 
in  Boston,  104-105. 

McVickar,  Rev.  William,  27. 

Malden,  Mass.,  see  Converse  Memorial  Library,  and  List 
of  Illustrations. 

Marion,  Mass.,  see  Browne,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 
Memoirs  of  Dr.  Priestley,  1 (note). 

Monument,  see  Ames  Monument,  and  Pruyn. 

Morris,  William,  28. 

New  London,  Conn.,  see  Railroad  Stations. 

Newport,  R.  I.,  see  Sherman  (W.  W.),  and  List  of  Works. 
Newton,  Mass.,  see  BajJist  Church,  List  of  Works,  and 
List  of  Illustrations. 

New  York,  N.  Y.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Nieuwerkerke,  16. 

Norcross,  29,  14.3,  145. 

North  Church,  Sjjringfield,  55,  56;  see  List  of  Illustra- 
tions. 


North  Easton,  Mass.,  see  Ames  Library,  Ames  Town 
Hall,  Lodge,  Raih’oad  Stations,  List  of  Works,  and  List 
of  Illustrations. 

Office  Building  for  Boston  and  Albany  R.  R.  Co.,  Spring- 
field,  Mass.,  19  ; described,  49. 

Offices,  Richardson’s,  described,  124,  125  ; Life  in,  123- 
131. 

Old  Colony  R.  R.,  Station  for,  see  Railroad  Stations 
(North  Easton). 

Olmsted,  Frederick  Law,  20  ; citations  from  letters  of,  27, 
72, 118, 119 ; 73,  74,  76. 

Paine,  R.  T.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Palladio,  Architectural  ideas  of,  comjjared  with  those  of 
American  architects,  97. 

Palmer,  Mass.,  see  Railroad  Stations. 

Phoenix  Insurance  Co.’s  Building,  Hartford,  Conn.,  55. 

Pittsburgh,  Pa.,  see  Court-house,  Jail,  and  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Porcellian  Club,  5. 

Post,  Geo.  B.,  19. 

Priestley  & Bein,  3. 

Priestley,  Catherine  Caroline,  1,  3. 

Priestley,  Jonas,  1- 

Priestley,  Jose^Ji,  1. 

Priestley,  Dr.  JosejJi,  1,  2 ; intellectual  resemblance  to 
Richardson,  43-46. 

Priestley,  JosejJi  (third  of  the  name),  1 (note),  3. 

Priestley,  William,  3. 

Pruyn  Monument,  Albany,  N.  Y.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Public  Buildings,  see  Cajiitol,  City  Hall,  Court-house,  Jail, 
Library,  Town  HaU. 

Pullen,  28. 

Quincy,  Mass.,  see  Crane  Memorial  Library,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Railroad  Stations,  23  ; described,  100-102  (Auburndale, 
100,  105  ; Chestnut  Hill,  101, 102  ; Holyoke,  100  ; New 
London,  100  ; North  Easton,  100  ; Palmer,  100;  Wa- 
ban,  100) ; see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illustra- 
tions. 

Rectory,  Trinity,  Boston,  Mass.,  see  Trinity  Rectory. 

Richardson,  James,  1. 

Richardson,  Henry  Dickenson,  1,  43. 

Richardson,  Henry  Hobson,  birtli  and  parentage,  1 ; an- 
cestry, 1-3  ; boyhood  and  youth,  4 ; college  life,  4,  5 ; 
choice  of  jjrofession,  5 ; betrothal,  5 ; arrival  in  Pails, 
5;  life  in  Paris,  6-16;  letters  from  Paris,  6,  10-13; 
visit  to  Boston,  9 ; final  return  to  America,  16  ; first 
professional  engagement,  17  ; struggles  to  lind  employ- 
ment, 17, 18  ; iiersonal  aj)iiearance  and  characteristics, 
17, 18  ; first  architectural  commission,  18  ; marriage,  18 ; 
jirofessional  career  sketched,  19-25,  35,  36  ; jiartnership 
with  Charles  Gambrill,  19  ; commission  to  build  Brattle 
Sf^uare  Church,  19 ; to  build  Trinity  Church,  20 ; to 
complete  capitol  at  Albany,  20  ; for  library  buildings, 
21 ; dissolution  of  2>artnerslii]),  21  ; commission  to  build 
Sever  Hall,  21;  ecclesiastical  work,  21-23;  love  for 
new  ])roblems  in  architecture,  21-23,  37 , 38 ; own 
opinion  as  to  his  best  work,  23,  92  ; ill-health,  23,  24; 
personal  and  social  characteristics,  24-27,  37-41,  42- 


152 


INDEX. 


46 ; journey  to  Niagara  and  Canada,  27 ; European 
journey,  27-34;  letters  from  Europe,  33,  34;  effects  of 
this  journey  on  his  work,  35  ; renewed  ill-health,  35, 
36  ; death  and  funeral,  36  ; fellowship  in  societies,  37  ; 
inherited  qualities  (intellectual  likeness  to  Dr.  Priestley), 
42-46;  early  works,  47—56;  eclecticism  in  art,  50 
(note),  89,  93;  characteristics  of  early  works,  56-58; 
Trinity  Church,  59-66 ; own  description  of  Trinity 
Church,  61  (note),  62  (note),  143—145;  works  of 
middle  life,  67-86  ; Albany  Capitol,  73-77  ; last  public 
buildings,  87-89  ; creative  character  of  his  art,  88,  92- 
94,  98  ; railroad  stations,  100-102 ; dwelling-houses, 
102-110;  general  characteristics  as  an  artist,  111—122; 
chief  merits  of  his  work,  112, 113  ; attitude  towards 
ancient  art,  114-116  ; benefit  of  early  training,  117  ; 
])atience  in  working,  117-119;  alleged  faults  in  his 
work,  119-122  ; methods  of  teaching  and  working, 
123-131  ; influence  upon  architects,  132,  137  ; upon 
the  public,  132-138  ; upon  progress  of  other  arts, 
133,  134  ; care  for  accessoiy  features  in  his  buildings, 
133,  134 ; opinion  of  architects’  opportunities  in  Amer- 
ica, 134-136 ; reasons  why  his  work  interested  the 
public,  136, 137  ; lessons  to  be  drawn  from  his  example, 
137,  138;  his  position  in  history,  138  ; chronological 
list  of  his  works,  139-140 ; extracts  from  his  descrip- 
tion of  Trinity  Church,  143-145  ; extracts  from  his 
letters  and  memoranda  relating  to  Cathedral  designs, 
145,  146  ; professional  circular,  147. 

Richardson,  Robert,  1. 

Richardson,  Robert,  Jr.,  1. 

Richardson,  William  Priestley,  3 ; citations  from  letters  of, 
3,  4. 

Robinson,  Governor,  75. 

Romanesque  Art,  Influence  of,  on  Richardson,  20,  35,  53, 
54,  55,  56,  59,  63-66,  69,  76,  77  (note),  80,  88,  89,93, 
114,  115,  122  ; relations  to  American  public,  136-138. 

Rumrill,  .1.  A.,  18. 

St.  Louis,  Mo.,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illustra- 
tions. 

St.  Trophime,  Arles,  29,  33. 

Salamanca,  Old  Cathedral,  31,  34  ; tower  of,  and  tower  of 
Trinity  Church,  64-66 ; 115. 

Sard,  Grange,  Jr.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Sears,  Professor,  4. 

Sever  Hall,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  5,  21 ; described,  69-71 ; 
105,  110,  111 ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Shaw,  Norman,  Influence  of,  in  one  of  Richardson’s 
houses,  105. 

Shepley,  Rutan  & Coolidge,  139. 

Sherman,  W.  W.,  House  for,  103. 

Sherman,  Wyoming  Territory,  see  Ames  Monument. 

South  Framingham,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 


Spiers,  R.  Phen^,  Citations  from  letter  of,  6,  9 ; 28. 

Springfield,  Mass.,  see  Agawam  Bank,  Boston  & Albany 
R.  R.,  Bowles,  Church  of  the  Unity,  Court-house,  North 
Church,  and  List  of  Illustrations. 

State  Capitol,  Albany,  N.  Y.,  see  Capitol. 

Stations,  Railroad,  see  Railroad  Stations. 

Stimpson,  Ed.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Stores  for  F.  L.  Ames,  see  Ames  Building  and  List  of 
Works  ; for  Marshall  Field,  see  Field  Building. 

Stoughton,  Mrs.  M.  F.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Sturges,  Jonathan,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Successors,  Richardson’s,  139. 

Swift,  Joseph,  1. 

Tinkham,  J.  11.,  House  for,  see  List  of  Works. 

Town  Hall  for  Brookline,  Mass.,  Proposed,  see  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Town  Hall,  North  Easton,  Mass.,  see  Ames  Memorial 
Town  Hall. 

Ti'inity  Church,  Boston,  Mass.,  commission  for,  20 ; 21, 
31  (note),  35,  56  ; described,  59-66 ; tower  compared 
with  Salamanca,  64-66  ; pi'oposed  porch,  66;  67,  70, 
103,  111 ; tower,  115, 118  ; interior,  121,  134  ; methods 
of  construction,  143—145  ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Trinity  Rectory,  Boston,  Mass.,  described,  103 ; 105 ; see 
List  of  Illusti'ations. 

Unity,  Church  of  the,  Springfield,  see  Church  of  the  Unity. 

University  of  Vermont,  see  Billings  Library. 

Van  Brunt,  Henry,  Citation  from  article  by,  on  Trinity 
Church,  61. 

Viollet-le-Duc,  15,  16. 

Waban,  Mass.,  see  Railroad  Stations. 

Waltham,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

Warder,  B.  H.,  House  for,  108,  109  ; see  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Washington,  D.  C.,  see  Adams  (Henry),  Andei'son,  War- 
der, and  List  of  Illustrations. 

Wellesley  Hills,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works. 

West  Medford,  Mass.,  see  Grace  Church. 

Wilkinson,  Isaac,  2 

Wilkinson,  Mary,  2,  3. 

Winn  Memorial  Library,  Woburn,  Mass.,  21 ; described, 
67,  68  ; 80,  81,  114 ; see  List  of  Illustrations. 

Woburn,  Mass.,  see  Winn  Memorial  Library,  and  List  of 
Illustrations. 

Woodland,  Mass.,  see  List  of  Works,  and  List  of  Illus- 
trations. 

Worcester,  Mass.,  see  High  School. 

Works  of  H.  H.  Richardson,  Chronological  List  of,  139, 
140. 


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